


It's All Relative

by Hawkbehere



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 214,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbehere/pseuds/Hawkbehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Sachs revisits her Runway past and finds the landscape changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended. 
> 
> A/N: I finished this story years ago. A few readers stuck with this story from its infancy until the end. I deeply appreciated that and them. A few of you even stuck with me as a person and for that blessing I can never be sufficiently grateful. Again, I dedicate the entirety of It’s All Relative to Rosemary, whose presence in my life is truly nothing short of a miracle.

* * *

Andy Sachs took a swig from her venti two shot low-fat cappuccino and groaned as she stared at her computer monitor. It was 4:30 on a Friday afternoon and she was trying to finish the last sentence of an ending paragraph that was making her feel more than a little uptight.

As she did so, she unconsciously registered the flashing of lights outside her _New York Mirror_ office building, lights she attributed to passing emergency vehicles, all too often a fixture in Manhattan.

Who would even notice them? People in her office had. The lights outside were flash lights, camera lights.

Reggie, her youngest coworker, approached her tentatively, "Andy, they're reporters. TV reporters, and they're here for you."

Andy was thunderstruck, "For me? Why?"

"They didn't say—they're just shouting for you."

Andy's editor, Mike Anderson, emerged from his office in time to hear this, strode to the window and perused the scene. "Jesus Christ, Sachs! Did you rob a bank? If you did, we get the exclusive! If you didn't, get out there and get them gone—but send me that story first."

She straightened in her chair, "Will do." Andy smiled at her monitor. Mike acted like a hard-ass sometimes but Andy always nearly laughed when she thought about the difference between the definition of 'hard-ass' at the _Mirror_ and at _Runway_. She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes. She thought for a two full minutes, retyped her last sentence and reread it. Good enough, she said to herself as she emailed it to her boss, then stepped into his office, "Mike, it's in your in-box."

"Thanks, Sachs. Tell Reggie to turn on CNN out front. Maybe we'll catch it live."

Andy thought, for maybe the thousandth time, about what sort of reverse chivalry would have Mike always calling his female employees by their last names but male employees by their first. Nevertheless, she gave Reggie the message, reached into her desk, grabbed shoes and a bag and went to the restroom to amplify her hair and to greatly fortify her make-up. She exchanged her sensible shoes for the pair of Jimmy Choo's she kept in her desk. She might be frumpy these days, by _Runway_ standards, but she hadn't forgotten some hard-won lessons.

As she stepped out of her office, she was barraged by blinding lights and screaming from, perhaps, thirty people, "Andy! ANDY!"

She held up her hands and shouted, to her surprise, "QUIET!!!" To her additional surprise, this worked. "Could somebody please tell me what's going on?"

A newswoman stepped forward and said, "We understand you're a former personal assistant to Miranda Priestly."

"I am, but—"

"We want your reaction to the news that Miranda Priestly was shot by her personal assistant today."

"Oh my God! No!" Her reaction was everything the reporters could have hoped for and they greedily filmed it. Andy clapped both hands over her mouth as tears immediately formed in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. After two deep breaths, she removed her hands and asked, hoarsely, "Is she—"

"The hospital says she's in surgery but expected to live. We're here to—"

"Which hospital?"

"Bellevue. But we're here to ask you—what would cause her personal assistant to snap? We've all heard the stories—she's legendarily difficult to work for and…"

As Andy listened, her stomach and mind were churning. She felt nearly faint with relief that Miranda might live but she heard the tone and the tack this story would be taking and it made her furious. She wiped her face, sniffed and answered coolly, quietly and in a manner quite unlike her.

"First of all, it's misleading to say that her personal assistant assaulted her—"

"That's what the police said and—"

"She has two personal assistants. Her permanent first assistant is a person whose devotion to _Runway_ and Miranda is absolute. If the assailant was described as her personal assistant, it would've had to have been her second assistant. You need to underscore the difference. Emily did not do this."

A belligerent man shouted, "Seems like you know more than you should about—"

"No, damn you! But I do know Emily. You obviously don't."

A savvier newswoman asked, "You're a former second assistant yourself. What's your take? Could working for Miranda Priestly make a person snap?"

Andy felt red-hot pokers behind her eyes. Because she'd wanted to murder Miranda on a semi-regular basis. But never, ever would she have actually have hurt her. And to think that someone had…somehow…entirely enraged her. Her voice, however, remained calm.

"Do you people actually think this is just a fashion story? You're talking about Miranda Priestly, for God's sake—a publishing legend and for good reason. Do you understand that her opinion shapes, creates and influences untold numbers of jobs and 100s of millions of dollars in international commerce on a monthly basis? This is more than the tabloid story you're obviously looking for. I know what you want, but I'm not going to give you the satisfaction or that story. I have nothing to say about Miranda Priestly but that I'm truly grateful to have worked for her and wish her a speedy and full recovery."

She glared at the reporters filming her and added, "And I'm disgusted that people who call themselves journalists would attempt to defame the mother of two young children while she's in surgery and perhaps fighting for her life. Shame on you. I really mean that. Shame on you. Please leave before we have the police remove you."

As she stepped back into the office, she heard the sound from outside echoed in the newsroom. Yeah, they'd heard all that. Her coworkers looked sheepish.

Over the young woman's few months at the _Mirror_ , her coworkers had learned this was something Andy Sachs would not make fun of, although nearly all of them had tried. Because they considered themselves 'true' journalists, it was odd to know anyone who'd actually worked at any fashion magazine, much less the golden calf of _Runway_. But Andy was almost scarily protective of her former magazine and would never, ever speak disparagingly of her former boss. She didn't look all that fashionable to any of them but they quickly realized, from her comments, that she knew more than all of them combined about the fashion world.

Samantha, one of her older colleagues, said, "Ever thought about giving press conferences fulltime, Andy? You're good at them."

Andy wiped her eyes again and smiled weakly, "Never. And I'm not good at them…they just pissed me off." She turned to her boss and said, "I think I need to leave for the day. This is all quite a shock."

Mike looked her over with compassion. She was actually very pale. "Get outta here, Sachs. I'll call you tonight if I need a rewrite."

"You won't."

He nodded. She rarely said this but when she did, she was never wrong. "See you Monday then."

At that very moment, Emily's mouth was still open with surprise. She'd been sitting in the emergency room waiting for the end of Miranda's surgery, watching the CNN coverage of the shooting and was gob smacked to see Andy Sachs giving a passionate defense of Miranda and of herself.

Her cell was imploding with press calls that generally merited "No comment." The other calls were from _Runway_ , because today was the deadline for the all-important Fall Issue. Although Nigel was on his way, she needed to get back to Elias Clark. She needed to field press calls. She needed to change her clothes, because Miranda's blood was all over what she was wearing. Her second assistant was now in custody—as she should be, the bloody cow. She had no one to rely upon, no one who could help, no one who had the least idea what to do except…

Emily considered every possible alternative, and then dialed a number she'd kept for no real reason and never thought she'd willingly call again.

"Hello?"

"Manhattan isn't Mars, Andy. Where on Earth are you?" Emily asked in her most peremptory tone.

Even four months after she'd left _Runway_ , Andy smiled at that familiar, snotty English accent, "Already on my way, Emily."

"As you should be. This is all your fault, you know."

Andy almost laughed, despite the gravity of the situation, "Really? How's that?"

"If you hadn't left, we wouldn't have hired this crazy woman, would we?"

Andy choked back her answer, "I suppose not. You have a point. It's convoluted, but it's a point."

"Is there a point in keeping my cell phone busy?"

"See you soon, Em."

For what felt like the first time in hours, but was actually for the very first time since Andy had left, Emily took a few deep and peaceful, calming breaths.

* * *

 

Andy pushed her way through the press outside into the waiting room where she found an astonishingly unkempt Emily waiting. Emily was on the phone and her blouse was entirely blood-stained. Her hands, forearms and cheeks were also smeared with blood. The English woman didn't seem to have noticed, as she barked short, brutal commands into her phone while reading from the pad in her hand.

As she approached Emily, Andy saw an immaculate Nigel crossing from another direction with a long coat draped over one arm. She changed direction, met and kissed him, then turned toward Emily, who continued her non-stop harangue.

Nigel said quietly, "You know, Emily's the heroine of the day. I was following her into the office to run the final blue-line gauntlet. When Isabelle shot Miranda, Emily didn't even think—she just jumped on her like a leopard on a tuna steak. The next shot went into the ceiling and I had to pull her off of the bitch to take care of our patient."

Her expression said it all and he replied, "I know I never curse. But I do under duress."

She nodded. "How is Miranda?"

"In surgery, as you heard. But well enough to give Emily those notes in the ambulance—in case she died, she said."

"That's not funny."

"I didn't think so, either." Nigel finally looked her over, "By the way, nice press." He looked her clothing over, pointedly and dismissively, "And nice shoes."

Andy grinned, "I've missed you, too, Nigel."

"Let me see that caboose…" He took an appraising look at her ass, "Well, at least you're still a four."

Andy shook her head fondly. "That's right. Talk dirty to me."

Emily had finished her call and looked at Andy with no little bitterness. Andy crossed the room and rocked the woman in a tight hug. Emily did not entirely regret this (as she needed a hug) but she only said, "To what do I owe this maudlin display?"

Andy pulled away from Emily and smiled, "Nigel told me you saved Miranda's life. Thank you."

"Why thank me? It's my job."

"To save her life?"

"Every day. And in every way."

Andy thought about this, "If you put it that way, I guess you do. But still, that woman had a gun."

"Yes. She had a gun but we have a print deadline. Midnight tonight."

Andy was amazed, "Since when do we…I mean you…have a print deadline at midnight on a Friday?"

"Since Miranda told them it couldn't possibly happen at close of business Tuesday."

"Starting a late print on a Saturday? On the biggest issue of the year? That's going to cost—"

"Yes. Yes, it is." Emily thrust her pad into Andy's hand, "Can you read these?"

Nearly a year of experience made Emily's scrawl easy to read but Andy had another concern. "Of course I can but where are the twins?"

Emily blinked, "The twins?"

"Yes. Who's telling the girls?"

"If you must know, I called Magdalena in the ambulance and told her to keep them away from the television. Their father's on his way to pick them up and I told him we'll keep him abreast of Miranda's condition. Their father will tell them. Do you think I'm so incompetent that I would forget the twins?" Emily's eyes began to tear, "I'm not bloody heartless."

"No! Of course you're not—". She moved to hug Emily again but Nigel stopped her with a firm hand on her arm and a question.

"Emily, where is the book?"

Emily sniffed, went to her bag and produced the book.

Nigel's voice was calm and professional, "I heard what you were saying. You got through the clusterfuck that was 670 through 672?"

"Yes, before she lost consciousness."

"So perhaps about 35 more decisions, right?"

"Yes."

"I'll make them. Go home and I'll make them. If she doesn't like them, I'll take the responsibility and Andy will take your calls."

Emily scowled at Andy and handed over her cell. "Call me on my personal if you need me. I'll be back in an hour."

"Take more like four hours, Emily. Take a long hot shower and a nap. You don't need to go to the office. We'll still be here and we'll cover it. It's going to be a long weekend."

Nigel's tone and demeanor told Emily she had no choice, "Still, call me if—"

"We will. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up before you leave. The press is outside." He handed her the coat he was holding. "I brought you this—it'll cover what you can't clean. No need to give those jackals anything more than they have already."

Emily's face and voice softened, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now get going."

As Emily stalked toward the restroom, Andy asked, "Why'd you—"

"If you coddled her right now, she'd break down right here and she'd never forgive us. She needs to go cry and lose her mind in private. Have you ever almost lost the most important person in your life to violence?"

"No—not to violence."

"I have. My first boyfriend. We were gay-bashed. He got the worst of it and almost died."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

"So was I. But I was also very private about my emotions. Still am. Emily is, too. As soon as she lets her guard down for a few minutes, today will hit her like a ton of bricks. She needs to do that by herself."

Andy nodded as Emily's phone rang. She answered it, "Miranda Priestly's office."

* * *

 

After Emily moved through the gauntlet of the press and got into a taxi, she nearly immediately began to weep as she hadn't since she'd been a child and her pony had been put down because of a broken leg.

Suddenly, she didn't want someone watching her. She wiped her tears away, harshly, and said as she tossed money into the front of the cab, "This far will be fine."

She got out and cried as she walked the hour it took to reach her home.

* * *

 

Two hours later, a nurse bellowed into the room, "Emily? Emily?"

Nigel didn't turn away from his magazine, but said, "She means you."

Andy jumped to her feet. "Oh…yes. I'm here!"

Andy shook inside and internally apologized to Emily's phone as she turned it off and followed the harried-looking nurse into the elevator. "How is she," she asked as she looked at the nurse's nametag, "Nan. How is she, Nan?"

"Amazingly…aggressive for what she's been through."

"Will she be alright?"

"Oh yeah. Remarkably clean gunshot wound through the back and stomach. Of course, with gastrointestinal involvement, you always have a greater concern about infection but barring anything unforeseen in her recovery, she should be just fine."

"Thank God."

The nurse, a much older woman who didn't look like she suffered fools or foolishness gladly, looked pointedly at her, "Thank God it's you who have to deal with her. I'm not usually the errand-girl, but she demanded that I get you myself."

"Really? She's acting like a bit…acting out already?" Andy's spirits lifted immediately. "Then she is okay….but I guess she's NPO?"

"Right. Nothing by mouth. A few ice chips to moisten her mouth but that's all."

The young woman nodded and, as they approached the room, the nurse said, "She's still coming out of anesthesia and has some pretty strong pain medication onboard. So she's only semi-lucid but one hell of a lot more lucid than I've ever seen under the circumstances."

"You're seven to seven, Nan?"

"You got it. I'll be here all night."

They entered the room and Andy found a very pale Miranda connected to all the telemetry the hospital could give her.

Andy hesitated and asked, "Why's she on a telemetry floor if she's so stable?"

The woman shrugged. "Orders from on high. She's too important a patient to mess with."

Andy nodded, "Okay. Good to know."

The nurse left them alone, saying "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Miranda woke, shaking her head and blinking her eyes. Andy could see from the monitors above the bed that Miranda's heart rate immediately rose as the older woman focused increasingly widening eyes upon her.

"Andrea!? Am I dead? Am I in—"

Andy stepped toward the bed. "You're going to be fine, Miranda. You're in Bellevue."

"What are you doing here?"

"Nigel and Emily needed to finish for the printers and I—"

"Good. And the girls?"

"Are with their father. When I leave, I'll call him and let him know—"

Miranda's eyes widened even further,"No. No. Absolutely not, Andrea. Now that you're here, you are not to leave me again."

Andy stared into Miranda's pain and medication-glazed eyes, nodded simply and answered, "Of course not, Miranda."

"Call Emily—she'll tell him."

"I will. She will."

"And tell her thank you."

Andy's eyes widened. "Thank you?" She'd never, ever heard a 'thank you' to a subordinate from Miranda.

Miranda's eyelids were fluttering, "Obviously. She saved my life. Send her flowers and tell her thank you."

"Al…right."

"And you're not to leave me. Do you understand?" Miranda suddenly looked extremely pained, "Please call the nurse."

Andy quickly pushed the button and waited. Nan appeared and canceled the signal. "May I help you?"

"Two things. I need more medication for my pain. In the ambulance, I know I said my assistant could see me but I need Andrea, Emily and Nigel. They can see me. Only my family beside them. But I want Andrea available at all times."

"That's fine, Ms. Priestly. I'll check your chart for your pain meds but you need to get some rest now because—"

The rest of the sentence was superfluous. Miranda was unconscious again.

Nan gave her a scolding look, "I take it you're Andrea, not Emily."

Andy ducked her head a bit and smiled, "Right. But she did call me Emily for the first few months I worked for her so I'm sort of used to it. Check her meds and I'll get back with you when she wakes up."

Nan shook her head and left the room.

Andy was a bit flummoxed by this turn of events but took some pleasure in stepping out of the room, calling Miranda's 24/7 florist and sending the largest bouquet she could think of to Emily for a Monday delivery.

As she rang off, she thought for a second and immediately redialed, "For the love of God, no freesia!" she said as the florist answered. He answered, "Freesia—for or from Priestly? Of course not! You think I'm nuts or somethin'? I just saw CNN. What'd Emily do?"

"Probably saved her life."

"Flowers are on the house, then, and I'm sendin' a bouquet from me to both of them. Nice to hear your voice again, Andy."

"How'd you—"

"You kiddin' me? The only polite person who calls from _Runway_? You never forget that voice."

She smiled at the air, then took a chair by Miranda's bedside. Miranda turned on her side toward her. Andy placed her hand over Miranda's hand, the one which had no IV, and was surprised to feel the woman grip it.

Miranda whispered, "Don't leave me."

Andy felt a rush of pity. "I won't but I have to let Nigel know what's—  
Miranda didn't open her eyes, but answered in a cool tone, "That's what phones are for, Andrea." She fell asleep as Andy dialed.

* * *

 

When Nigel entered the room, he was surprised to see the women holding hands. Miranda awakened instantly, but she didn't move. Her voice was soft and sweet, "Nigel, are you alright? I don't remember. You weren't hurt, were you?"

He was as stunned by the question as by the manner of it. "No. Thanks to Emily, I'm fine. How are you?"

Miranda rubbed her head into her pillow luxuriously. "I couldn't be better." It was a thin hospital pillow with a poly-blend pillow case. Clearly she was still heavily medicated. She gripped Andy's hand and motioned toward her side, "Did you see? My Andrea came back."

Andy waved with her free hand and smiled a sheepish 'don't ask me' smile.

Now, Nigel knew Miranda was too drugged to speak to him. She might be speaking the truth but no truth she'd want anyone to have heard once she really woke up.

"So she did, Miranda. I'll tell Emily to call John. The twins will know you're alright. We'll take care of everything else. Get some rest."

"Did you get the issue finished?"

"Of course we did. Don't we always? Emily and I will come in the morning. Can we bring you some coffee?"

Miranda's eyes lit up at this but Andy said, "No. She has a stomach wound. She can't have anything by mouth until the doctors clear it."

"Ouch," Nigel said.

"Indeed," Miranda answered.

"You two get some rest, okay?" Nigel's voice was so soft Andy could barely hear it.

* * *

 

As Nigel left the room, he called Emily, "Call John and tell him she's fine but don't you bother coming back. Andy's staying."

Nigel heard Emily exhale heavily. "Oh, thank God. I was so out if it earlier it didn't occur to me that maybe Miranda wouldn't want her worst professional disappointment invading her hospital room."

Emily paused and asked in a deeply suspicious tone, "And speaking of that, why is Andy staying?"

Nigel's eyebrows rose but he replied smoothly, "I have no idea—but Miranda was fine with it and I didn't argue."

"How is she really?"

"Recovering and loopy but happy."

"Happy?"

Nigel thought for two seconds and decided he'd said enough, "Happy to be alive. We should be there by nine in the morning. And believe me, she'll be a bear."

"As opposed to?"

"Goodnight, Emily. I'm very proud of you."

Nigel heard Emily sniff, "Thank you."

"Are you okay?"

"I will be. See you in the morning. Wait—do you think she'll want coffee?"

"She will but she can't have coffee or anything else yet—which is the bearish part for us. Get it?"

"Got it."

* * *

 

Later, Andy asked at the nurses' station for a blanket and a pillow. She pulled her large standard-issue hospital chair, which she didn't call a recliner but a recline-a-bit, out into its semi-restful position and settled in for the night. She left one hand on the closest and least obtrusive part of Miranda she could touch, her blanket-covered leg.

Even later, Miranda awoke in a panic. For a moment she didn't know where she was, then felt the dull, aching pain in her back and abdomen. She'd been shot. She was alive. The room was dark except for the lights of the telemetry. Miranda looked down at the face of the young woman whose hand was gently resting on her leg.

What a beautiful girl, Miranda thought, then looked again. The girl looked cold.

"Andrea?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you warm enough?"

"Not really," the young woman murmured without opening her eyes.

"Call the nurse and get another blanket."

Andrea was clearly trying not to wake up,"Don't care."

"I do. And I'm cold, too."

Miranda was startled by how quickly Andrea sat up. "You're cold? Why didn't you say so?" She realized her hand was still on Miranda's leg and removed it like she'd touched a hot stove. "I'm sorry. You fell asleep and I….uh…I just wanted you to know someone was here with you." She gulped and apologized again. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be so sorry. As far as I know, I haven't been declared an untouchable."

Andy gulped again. "Oh no. Of course not! I mean, I know." She left the room and came back with three blankets. "This is the best thing about hospitals, Miranda. They have blanket warmers!" She placed two blankets on Miranda, then leapt into her chair and placed the warm one over the one she had. "Doesn't that feel great?"

Miranda nodded as Andy sat up again and said, "You know, you can't have anything to drink or eat but you could have some ice-chips to moisten your mouth."

"Go to sleep, Andrea," Miranda said, much more sharply than she'd intended.

Andy felt as stung by this dismissal as she usually did, plopped down, covered her head with her blankets and gave a muffled response. "Fine. Whatever."

"Andrea."

No answer.

"Andrea?"

Andy uncovered her head, and said with some heat, "What? What, said the ex-employee to her ex-employer as the former spent the night in a freezing hospital room just so the latter, who doesn't even like the former, would have someone with her? What?"

"I apologize. I feel really…very sick and I never have been and I don't know how to negotiate that. Could I please have some ice?"

All anger immediately left her. Andy was, again, up like a shot. "Of course you can, sweetheart. Won't take but a minute."

As they parted, both of them gave thought to the word sweetheart. Andy because it was natural for her to say to someone who was sick but it was sort of weird to give Miranda that designation; Miranda because no one had ever called her that. Not even her mother.

Andy opened the bathroom door and turned on the light so that it shed a dim light on the room. "Be right back."

When the young woman returned she had a cup of chipped ice and a spoon. She raised the head of Miranda's bed and said, "Remember, just a few."

After Miranda had savored a spoonful of ice, she said, "You seem to know your way around hospitals."

"Yeah, I do. My mom had breast cancer."

"I'm sorry. Is she—"

"Oh no. She's alive. She beat it—but it took about eight months. I was there the whole time."

"You're a good daughter."

"Nope. She's a great mom. I was just lucky to be able to help."

Miranda took another ice chip and said, quietly, "You know, I can't even tell you whether my daughters would be here if they were old enough to be. Isn't that strange?"

Andy was stricken to the heart, "Miranda, I'm sure they'd—"

Her sentence was cut off by Miranda's soft voice. "No, no. I just said I couldn't be sure. How could you be?" Miranda winced as she relaxed into the bed, "You said it yourself. I'm in a hospital room and the only person who cares enough to stay with me is an ex-employee who thinks I don't like her."

"That's not true! Emily or Nigel would have stayed if I didn't."

"Take this, please," Miranda said. Andy took the cup and placed it on Miranda's bedside table, then sat in her chair, wondering what to say.

Miranda spoke first, in a whisper, "I don't want the only people who care for me to be on my payroll."

"I'm not on your payroll. And I care enough to be sleeping on this, frankly, shitty chair."

Andy watched, in the vague darkness, as Miranda sat up.

"But why? You left me! You deserted me in Paris and you've clearly never liked me. Regardless, I thought enough of you to make you my first and take you to Paris. Isn't that worth anything? And I never implied that I don't like you."

Andy nearly laughed aloud at this outrageous bit of revisionist history but she heard the pain in Miranda's voice and answered very softly, "No. You never implied you didn't like me. You told me outright that I had no taste, was fat, clueless, worthless, brainless, incompetent, etc. etc. Day after day and month after month. I'll allow that all of those derogatory adjectives, all the demeaning things you put me through and all of the miracles I worked for you on a daily basis that you totally took for granted, wouldn't necessarily prove that you didn't like me. But if that's what you call liking me, God help the person you didn't like."

She hadn't been able to resist this sarcasm but as she looked into Miranda's tearing, vulnerable blue eyes, she continued, "Enough of the past. I'm here because you're easily the most astonishing person I've ever met, Miranda Priestly," Andy took a deep breath and added, "You're impossible and maddening and I don't know how to like you. I don't think I'll ever know why I miss you so much or why I think of you so often—but I do."

Miranda gave a short snort of laughter. "You do?"

Andy shrugged. "Yep. Call me a masochist. But don't tell anyone else because I'll deny it. Now we both need some sleep. Are you warm enough?"

"I am now."

"Good. Need anything?"

"Turn out that light."

Andy leapt up, turned out the light and took her chair. "Anything else?"

"Your hand."

"Pardon me?"

"Hold my hand."

Andy settled herself into her chair and took Miranda's hand, "Goodnight, Miranda."

Miranda whispered, "I have to say something while I'm still so drugged that I will say it. I'm never sorry about the way I do my job but I am sorry I hurt your feelings. When I first saw you here with me…I asked if I were dead and in—"

Andy interrupted with a chuckle, "I know. You thought you were in hell."

"No. Not at all. I thought I was in heaven."

Andy's heart jumped. "Miranda—"

Miranda's voice returned to its usual dismissive tone, "That's all."

Andy was so stunned that she stared out at the darkness for a very long time.

* * *

 

One hour later, a deeply flustered John Priestly approached the nurses' station and said, "I'm here to see my ex-wife."

As all of the nurses gave him the fisheye he said, "We're still friends and I'm her emergency contact. I need and our children need for me to see her."

Even as John said this, he knew it was both true and not true. Because of the children, John had remained her emergency contact despite her remarriage to Stephen but this had (justifiably, he thought) angered Stephen. It had also caused a slight rift in John and Miranda's friendly relationship in order to keep the peace.

Nan corroborated this with Miranda's chart, then approached him and said, "Ms. Priestly has a very helpful assistant with her now, but I'll be glad to take you back. She'll need to be here for two to three days and I don't think that'll be easy for her. Or us."

John snickered a bit at this as Nan led him to the room. The nurse only opened the door to Miranda's room but let him enter by himself. It was entirely dark except for Miranda's glowing telemetry. As he entered the darkened room, he saw a very pretty young woman who he recognized from the news sleeping in a reclining chair next to his ex-wife's bed. They were holding hands.

Miranda awakened immediately and whispered, "Hi, Johnny." She had not called him this since before their marriage.

"Hi, Mir. You okay?"

"Just fine."

He immediately felt a world of stress falling from his shoulders—his children's mother was really okay. At that moment, Andy woke up and registered someone else in the room. "Oh my God. I'm sorry, Miranda." She removed her hand from the other woman's, forced her recline-a-bit into its upright position, punched a button and stood as the dim light above Miranda's bed came on.

"Andrea Sachs, this is John Priestly, my only worthwhile ex-husband."

Andy shook his hand, "Please call me Andy. Nice to meet you," and grabbed her bag, "I think I'll go get you some coffee. You guys need anything else?"

"We'll be fine. But I still need you." Miranda's eyes were impenetrable. Andy had no idea what the woman meant.

She said, "I'll be back in a few."

"Andrea, please don't leave."

That was the answer. 'Don't leave' was the answer. Andy smiled, "I'm not and I won't. Just getting coffee. You can have more ice chips. But how do you like your really crappy hospital coffee, John?"

As he told her, Andy smiled again. After so many months at _Runway_ , this was certainly something she could do.

* * *

 

As Andy left the room, John asked his ex, taking the seat Andy had vacated next to her. "So. Want to tell me how I find a former second personal assistant sleeping in your room and holding your hand?"

Miranda winced, "How do you know that?"

"Mir, I talked to her all the time when she worked at _Runway_ and she's all over CNN defending you and Emily like you're the dual Baby Jesus."

"Really? CNN?" Miranda thought about this, frowned and John amended his answer.

"Mir, what I mean is that the press caught Andy outside her office asking her about some assistant who'd shot you. She said that Emily would never hurt you and that she was happy to have worked for you and was concerned for you. That's all. No big deal."

Miranda relaxed into the bed, "John, you always know what to say."

John laughed and said, "Not always, Mir. In fact, almost never."

"Well, you more than most."

"There you go."

Miranda looked at the clock. It was 11:45. "Why'd you come? It's so late and they've told me that I am alright."

"I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay and I wanted to tell our daughters that I'd seen that for myself. They love you and I'll always love you, too, you know."

Miranda grumbled out "I love you, too," and her mind instantly flashed to John's past infidelity, "You bastard!"

John smiled. "Ah! That's my girl! And speaking of girls, Caroline and Cassidy are..."

They spoke for a few minutes before Andy returned. She handed John his coffee, "At this hour of night, this is the most scalding hot crappy coffee that's available."

"You didn't want any?" Miranda asked. Andy hadn't brought any coffee for herself.

"No. I know exactly how that stuff tastes and I'm going to sleep in just a bit. But I thought John might need a jolt before he drove home."

Miranda chatted with John for another few minutes. She finally offered her ice cup to Andy, who placed it on her bedside table, "John, come back tomorrow, will you? And tell the girls I'm okay and I love them. I need to rest."

John leaned forward and kissed his former wife on the cheek.

She said, "Thanks for coming."

"I'm so grateful you're okay and have someone to take care of you."

"I am, too."

"Nice to meet you, Andy."

"You too. Drive safely."

As Miranda watched him depart, she said, "It was nice of him to come but we need our rest, don't we, Andy?"

The idea that 'they' were resting together made Andy blush as she pushed the recline-a-bit out and turned out the light. With her face the color of a carnation, she answered "We do."

"Hand." Miranda said, without hesitation.

Andy offered her hand and Miranda took it. Sleep claimed them both.

* * *

 

The next morning came very early. After the four AM vitals check, both of them fell back to sleep. Andy woke at about 5:45 but didn't move. Miranda woke shortly thereafter. After a few minutes, the only motion either of them made was to caress each other's hand as they looked into each other's eyes.

It was the most confusing, yet sensual and arousing, experience Andy had ever had. She felt the warmth of the woman's hand everywhere, not just in her hand.

Her mind slipped a gear when she registered that she never had these kinds of feelings about another woman. But she undeniably was—and about Miranda, of all people. And Miranda in a hospital bed. She was beginning to feel like she was the world's biggest pervert when Miranda finally spoke, "Thank you for staying."

Andy blushed and managed a thin smile as she sat up. "No big deal."

The older woman rearranged the pillow under her head, "I think we both know it was a very big deal for me."

Andy grinned but didn't reply to this. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot and had surgery."

"I know and I'm so sorry."

"I probably look it, as well."

"You look sick, yes, but you're still gorgeous." Andy suddenly jumped up, couldn't look Miranda in the eye. "Need some more ice?"

"Don't torture me, Andrea."

"I'm not. Just giving you your one option."

"For your information, options come in multiples. One option is no option. You, as a writer, should know that. I don't want ice. And I don't want you to leave."

Andy repositioned herself in her chair, "Alright, but Nigel and Emily are coming this morning and I could just leave long enough to get a shower, make some calls and change my clothes."

Miranda looked at her with an inscrutably bland expression, "But you'll come back?"

Andy's expression was just as inscrutable, "If you want."

"I do."

"And should I stay the night?"

"Yes…please."

Andy felt a mountain of emotion avalanche upon her at that one word from Miranda's lips, but she kept it from her voice as she stood and replied, "Will do. You can give Em's phone back to her. And maybe you'll see how many calls a first assistant gets on a Saturday morning."

She turned Emily's phone on, handed the woman her own pad and pen and said, "My number's in the cell. Call me if you need anything before I get back—it'll be maybe 11:00 at the latest."

"I'll count the minutes, Andrea."

Andy moved forward, stopped, moved forward, hesitated, then leaned forward to kiss Miranda on her cheek. At the same time, signals crossed, Miranda turned and the result was a gentle, quick kiss on the lips.

As Andy pulled away in horror, she watched as Miranda settled back into her bed, looked with some amusement for a long few moments into enormous brown eyes and said, "I was right. I am in heaven."

The younger woman blushed furiously and managed a quick wave before she left the room, feeling utterly overwhelmed. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod," she whispered to herself. "I just kissed her…and she…OH MY GOD."

Miranda was astounded that she'd just said that aloud but found that she was too drugged to care, smiling as she fell asleep.

* * *

 

Andy was still freaked and blushing but, before she left the floor, she stopped by the nurse's station and motioned toward Nan.

"Do you need something?"

"No—well, yes. I know you're going off-shift soon but, believe me, it'll be as much as the next shift's life is worth if Miranda can get some decaf for breakfast." Andy's eye's bored into the other woman's. "I'm really, really serious. I mean—you can't truly know."

Nan snorted. "No. Actually, having interacted with her before you got up here last night, I think I do. The doctor has some dietary orders up. I'll see what they are, and if she's clear, I'll expedite a different tray for her."

Andy visibly relaxed. "You don't know how—"

Nan interrupted, "You actually care, don't you?"

Andy blushed again, then answered, "Well yes, of course, she's my former boss and—"

"She's not your boss now. I saw you talking about her on CNN. You care about her, don't you?"

The nurse saw how rumpled and tired the girl was, noted the blush on the young woman's cheeks but the girl pulled herself to her full height. "Of course I do. Anyone who really knew her would."

Nan leaned forward and whispered, "It's the other way around. Anyone with a friend like you must not be all that bad."

* * *

 

As she maneuvered toward the subway, Andy realized she hadn't known how much a prime spot on CNN might mean to her phone messages until she checked them. Motherfucker! Lilly, Doug, Nate(?), Mom, etc. etc. Then Em and Nigel. Okay. First thing's first. Mom, Dad, Sam.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

Audrey's voice was exultant,"Sweetheart! How are you? You were so pretty on TV but you looked so upset that I just had to—"

"I'm great Mom. Just going to get a shower and a change of clothes."

"Oh?"

Andy sighed. "I spent the night with Miranda in the hospital and I've got to get back."

"What?! But why? I thought you hated her?"

Andy thought for a long few seconds. "I thought I made that clear in the interview. I don't hate her. I never did. She might have been too demanding as an employer for me then but she needs me now. And you know how I love a hospital."

This was delivered as a joke but the concern in Andy's voice tempered Audrey's response. "Oh, I know you do. She wants you there, Andy?"

"Of course she does. I wouldn't stay against her will, you know."

Andy could hear her mother thinking, although nothing was said. "Alright, I'll let your father and Sam know you're well. You really did look lovely on the news and you sounded so professional."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call you guys later, okay?"

One call down. A billion to go.

The call to Lilly had been brief and to the point. Her friend had been stunned by her choice to help 'the dragon lady' but had agreed to talk to Doug and Nate and avoiding the Nate-call was golden, as far as Andy was concerned.

Next….

Em.

Okay.

"Miranda Priestly's office."

"Emily. You're answering your own phone."

"Right. I often forget that. Actually for the past two years, if anyone asks me anything at all, I find myself saying, 'Of course, Miranda.'"

"Speaking of, I left your business cell with Miranda."

Andy heard the ratcheting tension in the other woman's voice, "Are you absolutely and completely mental?"

"Probably. I just thought she might need to see what you go through on a daily basis."

Andy heard the English woman take a few breaths. "So—I suppose you think that—"

"I don't think anything, Em. Just giving you the heads up. Call the nurses' station before you go up. They're trying to get the okay for decaf."

"Thank God."

"Thank God and me, Em. I'm going home and taking a shower. See you soon."

Andy cut the call before Emily could wonder why Andy might still be part of this scenario.

Before Andy could make her next call, she received one, from Emily's work number. "Hello, Miranda."

"Andrea. Do you know that three members of the press called before 7AM?"  
"Doesn't surprise me a bit. What'd you tell them?"

"They wanted interviews with her. I put on my British accent—and I do have a way with accents—and gave them my best haughty, snotty Emily "No comment."

"You'll have to demonstrate sometime."

Suddenly Miranda's voice sounded uncannily like Emily's, "Miranda Priestly's office. No, she's not available. She's in a meeting. No—you can either give me the message or you can call again, at which time she'll be in meeting and you'll have to give me the message. Whether you call for the fifteenth or twenty-fifth or two thousandth time, she'll be in a meeting and you'll have to give me the message. Your message or goodbye. I happen to be busy."

Andy choked back a laugh, "Geez, Miranda! You could take that on the road!"

Miranda sniffed, which to Andy's practiced ears, sounded like she was pleased.

"Do you know she has 273 messages this morning and 158 text mails? I'm surprised Emily hasn't shot someone."

Andy smiled, "Emily might shoot someone eventually, but it would never be you. I thought having her phone might be instructive for you."

Andy winced as she heard dead silence, then a tired voice. "We're straying away from the point. I was calling to ask if you could—"

"Go to your house and pick up your make-up, toiletries and pajamas? Yep. Already had that on my to-do list."

Andy heard Miranda exhale loudly, "I miss that."

"What?"

"Where to begin? Competence. Not having to explain myself, not—"

Andy interrupted her, "I'm nowhere near as competent as Emily, Miranda. She's the one you should be grooming to take your place, by the way. The only things she really cares about are fashion and _Runway_. I only care about you—that's the difference." She suddenly realized that she'd actually said that aloud when the phone went silent again.

She managed to whisper, "Uh, Miranda? Still there?"

"I want you here as soon as you possibly can be. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Miranda. I'm sorry if I—"

"That's all."

The phone went dead but Andy smiled.

Next call. Nigel.

"Hello, Mary Sunshine. How was the night?"

"About typical for a night on a hospital chair."

"How is Our Lady?"

"Don't be sacrilegious, Nigel."

"I wouldn't dream of it. But my God is fashion and she is Our Lady."

Andy shook her head to clear this vision. "She's okay. In a lot of pain but John came to visit last night and that cheered her up a bit. She might get some decaf today and that will definitely help."

"I'll say."

"Look—Nigel, when you guys go up there, just realize that she looks like shit pan-fried and warmed over. Try not to react too much, okay? It'll only embarrass her and hurt her feelings. I'm gonna go to her house and get her some makeup and some stuff to wear before I come back. Tell Em, okay?"

There was a pause before Nigel answered. "Andy, you are one of the singularly kindest people I've ever met. But never quote me on that."

"Off the record. Gotcha. See you soon."

* * *

 

Although they'd promised themselves 9AM, they arrived around 10AM and despite Andy's warning, Emily and Nigel were both shaken by Miranda's appearance. She was pale, had glassy eyes, no makeup, and disheveled hair. She looked small and defeated, something they'd never seen. She tried to rise to the occasion but they could both see she couldn't.

She offered, lamely, "My appearance is directly tied to the coffee and breakfast I didn't have this morning."

Emily smiled and offered Miranda a scalding hot decaf Starbucks, "I cleared this with the nurse."

"Bless you," Miranda offered dryly, before sipping it. She closed her eyes in bliss. "You will never know. And speaking of never knowing, I took messages for both of us this morning. It was literally mind-numbing."

Emily blushed and retrieved a portable DVD player from her bag. "I took the liberty of having Joshua do a quick disc of the TV press coverage on the shooting. I thought you'd want to see it."

"Excellent idea, as always, Emily."

As Emily blushed more deeply, handed over the player and took the phone and paper, Miranda noticed scrapes and bruises on the younger woman's hands. "What are these, Emily? You were injured yesterday?"

Emily was utterly taken aback. "Injured?"

"Yes. Look at your hands. Did that woman hurt you?"

Emily obediently looked at her swollen, scraped and bruised knuckles, "Oh. Right. No. Not really. Not anything to mention."

Miranda's voice was icy, "You will show me every injury you have and right this second."

Emily looked like a child whose mother had caught her in an outrageous fib. She lifted her blouse sleeves to reveal two swollen, scraped and bruised elbows, one much more livid than the other. She lifted her skirt a few inches to expose similar damage to her knees, visible even through her hosiery. Even Nigel was horrified and surprised; those injuries absolutely had to hurt. But the young woman hadn't even made a sound about them the night before.

Miranda's voice was even lower and cooler than usual, "How did they happen?"

Emily lowered her chin and spoke quietly. "Well, you see, once she shot you, I only had a split second to react so I tackled her and we hit the floor rather forcefully. I believe that accounts for the bruising and swelling. I wrestled her a bit before the second shot, then Nigel and I had to wrestle her for the gun and that's the scraping, I think. And my knuckles? I felt I just had to hit her a bit." She paused and her volume went up a couple of notches, "One, because the bloody bitch had shot you—you! and during a print deadline and, two, just for good measure."

Miranda blinked because she was trying not to laugh, "Nigel. Were you injured?"

"Not a scratch."

Miranda's mouth twitched at Nigel but she turned to her assistant, "You must go to a doctor."

"Oh, I don't think so, but thank—"

"You will go to a doctor. God only knows what damage that lunatic did to you."

This was not a request.

"I'll go."

"Good. And you'll need a raise if you're going to be wrestling and punching maniacs and saving my life every few minutes, not to mention answering all of these calls. We'll talk about that when I get back to the office."

Nigel watched in amusement as Emily looked as flustered as she'd ever been in his experience, then answered shakily, "I didn't do…what I did for a raise, Miranda."

Miranda waved one hand dismissively, "Don't be silly, Emily. I know that. I said we'll talk. In addition to your actions, someone has recently pointed out to me that you're worth much more to me than I thought. I'm beginning to think that person was right."

Emily's eyes glassed over and she swallowed hard, then rose to the occasion and said in her clipped English accent, "I'm only grateful that Isabelle turned out to be as incompetent an assassin as she was an assistant."

Nigel and Emily were treated to the first genuine laugh they'd ever heard from their employer.

* * *

 

As Andy went through her morning tasks, she began to go over her emotional run-through. This nomenclature, she realized, was a perverse holdover from her _Runway_ days. She'd also realized, from spending the night with Miranda, that there might be other perverse holdovers from her Runway days. She shook her head. No. Not perverse. Interest in a woman wasn't perverse. Just different—for her. Unexpected. After kissing, actually kissing Miranda Priestly, she wondered… was that what all of that angst had been about? She'd had a difficult job and an overly demanding boss who…what?

She forced herself to remember just how desperately she'd wanted to please Miranda, how many times she'd gotten actual chills when she'd exceeded the woman's expectations and had gotten that slightest of surprised nods. How she'd noticed when Miranda approved of what she was wearing with an almost imperceptible widening of her eyes. She'd looked for these things; she'd worked slavishly for them. At the time, she hadn't questioned them, although Nate and Lily certainly had. What had Nate said? Something like, _'the person whose calls you always answer…that's the relationship you're in.'_

Andy realized with a jolt that she'd thought she'd had a tough job and a tougher boss, which she had. But she'd also had a very serious crush. Even Lily and Nate had noticed something was different—although they hadn't really known what it was. It was a crush and she still had it. Bad. And Miranda wasn't exactly helping matters. Maybe it was the drugs—maybe it was really how the woman actually…

Andy closed her eyes for a moment. Despite this, she could still certainly, at the very least, take care of Miranda in the hospital. That was second nature to her. She opened her eyes and lifted her chin. _Play it by ear, Sachs. That's all you can do._

 

When Andy arrived at 11 on the dot, she found Emily and Nigel seated in two small chairs they must have dragged from elsewhere on the floor. As she placed her multiple bags on the floor, she was a bit startled by the tableau before her. Upon her arrival, Emily looked her over with bitterness and jealousy. Nigel looked gentle but unreadable. Miranda seemed both overtly pleased to see her but very tired, very ill.

Andy rushed to Nigel and they kissed congenially. Andy gave an air kiss to Emily, for which Emily could only barely conceal her shock. Andy only did this so that she could frankly kiss Miranda on the cheek. As she pulled away from the older woman, she saw such pain in her eyes and something that looked like humiliation, that she lowered her head toward Miranda's.

"You know what we're going to do?"

Miranda shook her head.

Andy's voice was quiet and soothing, "I just talked to the nurse. You're due for your pain meds so she's coming with them soon. You're too weak to shower. But once your meds are onboard, a really great nurse tech named Wanda is going to give you a nice bed bath and they have these little shampoo caps so you can do your hair while you're in bed. I've already cleared your hairdryer by the hospital electrician because you know how people hate for you to blow up the hospital mixing oxygen and faulty appliances, right?"

Miranda only nodded.

"Em and Nigel are going to leave and come back later or leave and come back tomorrow. I brought your makeup and stuff for your hair and some nice pajamas from your house. You'll feel so much better when you get a little bit more comfortable and feel more like yourself. I promise."

Miranda felt a sense of relief she had rarely—actually—had never experienced in her adult life. Someone else was in charge. Someone she trusted. She sighed and looked at her employees. "I'm sure you two have more important things to do on a weekend. We can meet on Monday."

Nigel stood immediately and Emily followed him. "We'll call you tonight. Maybe we can meet tomorrow. You're obviously in good hands, Miranda. We'll talk tonight." Emily nodded her agreement as she followed him out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, however, Emily hissed, "What in the hell was _that_?"

Nigel had his own ideas about what that was but he replied, "It's called simple human compassion, Emily, and it works wonders, even with fire-breathing dragons."

Emily scowled but not because she didn't realize he was right.

Nigel pushed it a bit, "And you do know who 'that person' who talked you up that Miranda mentioned is…"

Emily scowled more deeply. "Of course I do. I'm not an idiot. Andy Bloody Sachs."

"Andy likes you, Emily."

"I don't know why."

Nigel patted Emily's shoulder, "Because wonders never cease."

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Even as Nigel and Emily left, Miranda and Andy immediately launched into normal conversation to ease the tension they both felt from having had such an emotionally intimate morning.

“Thank God you’re here. I needed to meet them but I didn’t realize I wouldn’t want anyone to—“

“I know, Miranda,” Andy was already rustling through the bags on the floor.

“Ah, yes. Of course you do.” Miranda relaxed into her bed, “How do you always know?”

“Because I…” Andy stood, stopped and thought about the end of this sentence.

_Because my life once revolved around knowing? Because I still think of you all the time?_

She shrugged and chose the safest, ‘no answer’ answer, “I just do.”  
  
“Well, it’s certainly a relief that someone does.”  
  
Miranda had been so intensely preoccupied with her embarrassment and so happy and anxious to see Andy that it was only now that she actually registered what the young woman was wearing. Andy watched with amusement as Miranda looked over her outfit—she’d been wondering when this assessment would take place.  
  
Miranda took it all in—an extra large light blue man’s button-down over what she was fairly certain was a white Hanes men’s t-shirt, a pair of worn blue jeans and then….no!

Andy choked back a laugh. “Yes, Miranda—they’re Birkenstocks.”

“Andrea, you do _want_ me to get well, don’t you?”

Andy ignored this little jab, crossed and sat by the bed. “They’re called comfortable clothes, Miranda.” She searched for an explanation. “Sort of like pajamas for the outside world. If I’m going to be schlepping around this hospital and sleeping in a chair, I need to be comfortable. And I’m sorry—even if it offends your aesthetic sensibilities, I’m gonna be.”

“But those shoes!”

“These shoes are comfortable and just so you don’t begin to doubt my virtue—they’re my only pair of Birkis. But you know what I can do with these shoes that I can’t with others? I can kick them off and pop back in that recline-a-bit and slip them back on in two seconds if you need anything. And they’re comfortable. Perfect for hospitals. Trust me, sweetheart, I know more about this than you do.”

This endearment slightly mollified Miranda as did the realization that the young woman’s frankly feminine form and face in the slightly boyish clothes was….certainly…something. She allowed, “Well, I suppose you have a point. One can’t be expected to wear Valentino on an oil rig.”

Andy laughed, “Is that what the hospital seems like to you? An oil rig?”

The woman waved a dismissive hand from her bed. “Of course it is—but exactly. I watched a documentary about oil production with the twins. From what I could see, it was all just people rushing around doing God knows what. Drilling and prodding and poking with strange machinery. Lights and noise—and all the time,” she looked around her room with desolate eyes, “they were all alone—out at sea.”

Andy’s voice was soft. “You’re right—it’s an apt analogy. And you may feel out at sea because you’ve been hurt and you’re recovering.” She covered Miranda’s hand with her own, “But you’re not alone. I’m here.”

Miranda gripped Andy’s hand, lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes. “I know.”

At that moment, the door popped open and the large and jolly nurse Andy had spoken to earlier strode in. Andy casually disengaged her hand from Miranda’s as she said, “Hi Rosy.’

Miranda’s voice was cool and low, “Ah yes. Rosy the Riveter.”

Rosy ignored this but responded in an overly loud voice, “Ms. Priestly, this may be the last dosage of pain medication you’re getting via IV. You’ll be starting oral pain meds if you can tolerate them.”

Miranda didn’t acknowledge this and merely held out her IV hand as if she were getting a manicure and closed her eyes. As Rosy administered the medication, she caught Andy’s eye and rolled her own. Andy’s mouth twitched and she nodded. But then she looked at the injured woman in the bed, so disheveled, so unlike herself physically and felt a stabbing tenderness. She took Miranda’s hand again and Miranda opened her eyes. Even as she did, Andy watched those blue eyes glass over a bit more—IV morphine was a powerful thing.

She spoke very softly, “See, Miranda? These meds are making you feel better already. But it’s a good sign that you’re going to be taking oral medication—means you’re getting better. I think you need to get some sleep before your bath. And don’t worry—if you fall asleep, I’ll be here. If I’m not here when you wake up, I’ll just be getting coffee. I won’t leave, okay?”

Miranda sighed and whispered. “Okay.”

Rosy’s eyebrows shot up as she watched this exchange while flushing the IV line. So, the rumor that there was a lion-tamer for this woman was true.

Before Rosy even finished the flush, Miranda was sleeping soundly. Andy stood and covered Miranda with a blanket, then signed for Rosy to follow her out.

“Thanks, Rosy—think we can let her sleep a while before that bath?”

”Sure—she needs it. Just call for Wanda when she wakes up.”

“And, uhm, they’re going to want her to get up and walk a bit, aren’t they?”

Rosy nodded, “Yep—PT’s coming around three.”

Andy lowered her voice, “I really, _really_ think you should let me walk her around. She’s not going to take well to a stranger touching her to support her—even a physical therapist.”

Andy saw Rosy was about to argue and continued, “I have lots of experience with this—my mother’s taller and heavier than Miranda and I’ve walked her miles in hospitals. PT can come and check to see that I know what I’m doing—but I’m telling you, it will be worth this _hospital’s_ while to let me help Miranda.”

Rosy looked at her for a few moments, “I know she’s bad but how bad can she be?”

The younger woman snorted a laugh, “One—you _really_ don’t want to know. Two—she’s not bad at all—she’s just Miranda. Seriously. Let me help her. We’ll all be happier.”

Rosy shrugged. “It’ll have to go through PT but I’ll tell them, okay?”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

 

Serena was an oddity at _Runway._ A woman beautiful enough to be a model but a woman who would not model. She enjoyed fashion from the art production side. Even Miranda had casually asked her once whether she’d ever considered….

No, she hadn’t. She would not be a model. A model, like a make of car? No. Never.

But she enjoyed the fact that she had the attention of the super-model-maker of the universe. And she did. Miranda always, always looked at her with—what? It wasn’t lust or appreciation or anything like it—just interest in an untapped resource she would never have.

Serena smiled at that thought. Then frowned. She’d been flying back from a visit to her family in Brazil when she’d heard Miranda had been shot. She had the utmost respect for Miranda and was grateful she would recover but her mind had crystallized around Emily and she needed to see her.

* * *

 

Emily heard the pounding on her door as she towel-dried her hair. She’d taken another shower after her hospital visit—she couldn’t get clean enough after seeing the violence of the day before. She was, uncharacteristically, dressed in a T-shirt and boxers an old and long forgotten boyfriend had left behind. No makeup.

Who the hell? She looked through the….oh shite. Serena.

Emily suddenly felt like a dog needing to run around the room and find a safe, quiet spot. The pounding on the door continued. Bloody hell. The neighbors had ears, too, so she opened the door. Serena looked, as always, brilliantly gorgeous.

Emily stepped back and Serena walked in. Although they were office friends, neither had ever visited each other. Emily was a bit stunned that Serena even knew where she lived and watched as the taller woman, oddly, turned and locked her door as if she’d been there a thousand times.

She turned to Emily and looked her over. “Thank God you’re alright.”

Emily felt a flush in her skin. Of course she did—she felt utterly naked without her makeup. Without a conscious thought, her hands fluttered up to her face to try to shield herself from scrutiny. With this movement, Serena took in the bruised hands and elbows. Serena gasped and gently touched her hands, her elbows.

They never touched each other except when they bumped each others’ shoulders in the hall, laughing over some office fiasco or fashion horror. There were words in Portuguese Emily didn’t understand. What did she mean? Emily looked up into Serena’s eyes and saw only concern and sympathy.

“Serena, I know I must look a fright—I just got out of—“

“You are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”

“It’s kind of you to lie but—“

Whatever Emily had been about to say was quashed by Serena’s hug.

Ah. A hug. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Serena smelled like….Emily almost laughed when she realized that Serena just smelled like a human female. She didn’t even smell like soap. What sort of person worked at a fashion magazine and didn’t wear fragrance? Serena, evidently.

As Serena released her, she said, “You must tell me everything—over a late lunch.”

“Lunch?”

Serena smiled. “Lunch. Yes. Food we put in our mouths during the middle of the day. I know you haven’t had it. And we can eat at leisure since we’re not at work. We celebrate your being alive, Emily.”

Emily wilted a bit and acknowledged, “I _am_ starving.”

“We all are—part of the job description. Get dressed. I’m doing your makeup.”

“What?”

”Your makeup—I will apply it.”

Emily was nonplussed. “Hmmmm, okay. Right. Why?”

Serena stepped closer and answered firmly in a tone that would not be contradicted, “Because I want to.”

Emily looked up into the gorgeous face in front of her and thought a host of things. Right. Sappho alert? Kitten with whip? Oh dear. She voiced none of them.

“Okay,” Emily answered, simply.

“Good. Change and I’ll help you.”

* * *

 

After Emily had changed into an outfit she felt vaguely matched Serena’s effortless casual chic, she dried her hair and called her friend into the bathroom.

Serena motioned for Emily to sit on the closed toilet as she looked over the woman’s rather extensive collection of makeup and said. “Good. This will do.”

It was more than a bit strange, Emily thought, as Serena worked over her face without speaking, to have one’s work friend invade one’s apartment and bathroom and grab one’s chin. Although she hadn’t seen the results, Emily could feel that Serena was very experienced.

”I didn’t know you did makeup, Serena—except for your own.”

“Oh yes, if I know exactly what’s where, I can put my makeup on in the dark—I could put your makeup on in the dark. Sisters—three sisters. We all practiced on each other for years.”

Before Emily thought about how the question would sound, she asked “Are they all as attractive as you are?”

She winced internally but Serena only half smiled, then snorted “I’m the ugly one in the family.”

“Mother of God,” Emily whispered.

Serena took this for the compliment it was and winked at Emily. It only took her a few more minutes, then she stopped and surveyed her work. “There. Very good. Look at yourself.”

Emily stood and stepped to her bathroom mirror, with Serena looking over her shoulder. The Englishwoman was stunned. Serena had tastefully accentuated all of her features but, by her own standards, had used an inconceivably minimal amount of makeup. She stared at herself—she looked vibrant and youthful yet sophisticated and incredibly…pretty.

Serena saw this reaction sweep over Emily’s face and placed her hands on her shoulders, explaining, “Your style is your own, Emily, and you should wear the makeup you want. I just wanted to show you that, with a canvas that is as naturally beautiful as yours, a painter needs very little to finish the painting.”

Emily’s shy smile masked an enormous amount of pleasure. “I don’t know if I could do this, though, Serena. This isn’t how I see myself.”

Serena tapped her on the shoulders and laughed, “I could show you sometime. Invite me over for dinner and we could play makeup.” Emily was overwhelmed— _two_ meals?

“Now, Emily—let’s get to lunch. Do you like Ethiopian?”

Emily followed her out of the bathroom, “Of course but Serena—the carbs! We’ll explode.”

Serena turned and said in a low voice, “No. We will not. We’ll be eating just enough for our mutual pleasure.”

Even to Emily’s disbelieving ears this sounded like an unequivocal come-on. She then did something she was prone to, that had caused her hideous problems with Miranda forever—she blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “Are you hitting on me, Serena?”

Serena regarded her with bemused patience, as if they were talking about something so obvious it needn’t be discussed. “Of course I am. Do you mind?”

Emily flushed as she thought about it. Smart, tall, gorgeous yet undeniably female creature with very similar interests and a sense of humor. Hmmm. Her English resolve returned. “Well _no_ —I don’t suppose I do.”

Serena crossed toward the door, “Good. I’ve been hitting on you for nearly a year, by the way. This shooting incident made me decide I must take the bull by….the udders. Is that how to say it?”

Emily almost choked on her suppressed laughter but only said, “By the _horns_ —but the sentiment is the same. But more apt in this situation, actually.” As she grabbed her bag, she decided that the last 24 hours had been the most curious of her entire lifetime.

* * *

 

Miranda had slept fitfully and for only about an hour. As she woke, she was gratified to see Andy sitting in the recline-a-bit and working what looked like a puzzle book. Even Miranda’s slight stirring in the bed drew Andy’s eyes toward her and the girl looked at her with concern and tenderness.

“Hi, sweetheart—that wasn’t much of a nap.”

Miranda suddenly decided that she’d never seen eyes as beautiful as this young woman’s.

“I think I’m tired of being in bed—this isn’t my usual schedule, as you know.”

Andy put her puzzle book down and smiled as she stood, “I know that better than most of the people in the entire world. How about a bed-bath? Get cleaned up, sit up in this recline-a-bit and you’ll feel tons better.”

Miranda sniffed. “I suppose that might be nice.”

“I promise it will be. After the bath, though, I have to warn you—you’re going to have to do physical therapy, okay?”

“Nonsense! For what?”

Andy had anticipated this, sat down and spoke more quietly. “Not in the usual sense—you just have to sit up for a while and then probably take a turn around the nurses’ station. They just need to keep you off your back in bed—that’s one way to get pneumonia when you’re in the hospital, especially after surgery. And you’ll build your strength really quickly. They’re backing off the pain meds but you need to get up and you might be a bit weak because of them. So—the physical therapist…”

Andy watched as Miranda bristled but, before she could complain, she said shyly “I told them I could do it—I mean—I can walk you around if you want. I know how to and—I mean, just if you want and don’t mind and—“

“Yes, Andrea, _that_ would be acceptable. Only you.”

Andy smiled in relief, then girded her loins for something that might be taken the wrong way. “Miranda, I’m going to send Wanda in to help you and I want to ask you to please, please, please do something for me.”

Miranda stared, “Please three times? What on Earth could make you—“

”Be nice to her.”

Miranda rose a little in the bed and answered, “I’m always—“

Andy plowed forward, “ _No_. No, you are not, Miranda. You are rarely nice. But I’m begging you to be nice. She’s a very sweet and good woman. If you want to treat a nurse with a professional salary the way you treat other professionals, I may not agree with you, but I won’t ask otherwise. But a good nurse tech gives comfort and compassion at an hourly rate you would be scandalized by. This woman is lovely and competent. Please be nice. If you care for me at all, Miranda, you will.”

Andy had no idea how that last sentence had attached itself to her harangue, but oddly, it seemed to do the trick.

Miranda stared at her for a few full moments and then said, “As you say. Send Mother Theresa in. I’ll act accordingly.”

Andy stood, utterly relieved, then kissed Miranda briskly on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Miranda’s face didn’t change and she waved her hand, but Andy’s long months in the trenches of _Runway_ told her Miranda was not altogether unpleased.

* * *

 

Wanda turned out to be a robust but beautiful Mexican woman with a winning smile.

As she prepared Miranda for what the editor was sure was going to be the most humiliating experience of her life, she found that the tech’s way of going about this bed-bath was so matter-of-fact, congenially warm and unusually comforting that she found herself relaxing. It was like a massage from a professional.

There could be no other reason that a perfect stranger could help her gradually unclothe and bathe herself. This an was accomplishing the impossible.

As Wanda assisted her with regions she was too sore to take care of, Miranda asked, “Do you like your job, Wanda?”

Wanda’s English was excellent, with a trace of her Spanish. “Si. Ms. Miranda—I wished to be a nurse as a girl in Mexico. But my parents were poor—I could not get the education. When I married my husband in America, I got my certificate. I get to help sick people and make them feel better. It’s a very good job.”

“You are very good at it. But call me Miranda, please.”

”Oh thank you, Ms. Miranda, but I could not. Ms. Andy tells me you have children the ages of my little Juan Carlo—they are 11?”

“Twin girls. Caroline and Cassidy.”

“Two blessings. We wished for more children but cannot have them. Our Juan Carlo is our one blessing.”

“I’m glad you have him, Wanda.”

“He is a good boy—very smart—very smart. We have big hopes for him.”

Miranda nodded as she winced—the region Wanda was working toward should be embarrassing. Oddly enough, Wanda just kept talking as if she were tenderly washing a car and Miranda found she just could not feel embarrassed. The woman’s touch was so gentle, professional and kind that all thoughts of humiliation fled. Her Andrea had been right—this was a special and good woman.

“Our Juan Carlo tests at—what do you say—the genius? We are very proud.”

“You must be. Any parents would be.”

As Wanda gently helped Miranda wash areas no one had since she was a toddler, she listened to Wanda’s voice. “We are worried that his school cannot do enough for him.”

Miranda ignored the indignity to listen, “What school does he attend?”

As Wanda finished and told Miranda, the editor almost groaned. A P.S.? In one of the worst neighborhoods in the city?

“You are clean now, Ms. Miranda. But we must do your hair. This shampoo cap will surprise, I tell you. I’ll microwave it now.”

Ridiculous!, Miranda thought. A genius at that school?

* * *

 

After Wanda had shampooed her hair with the curiously effective shampoo-cap, Miranda used her blow-dryer to style it. She needed no mirror for this. She used the mirror on her portable bedside table to do her makeup. Wanda helped her into her silken pajamas, robe and into the recline-a-bit.

“Ms. Miranda—you look like a different person.”

“It’s my job to look like this—and Wanda?”

“Si?”

“You will be here tomorrow?”

“Si.”

”You _must_ be, Wanda. I have plans.”

“Si.” Wanda was a bit confused but responded to Miranda’s command tone. “Si, Ms. Miranda.”

Andy stood outside the door as Wanda left the room and looked for signs of stress in Wanda’s face. There were none. Wanda made a strange snorting sound, “Ah, Ms. Andy—as you said. A very sweet lady—so very sweet. These nurses know nothing—they talk nothing but dirt. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Andy almost dissolved in relief and only said, “ _Gracias_ , Wanda. You don’t know how helpful you’ve been.”

As Andy entered the room, she found Miranda Priestly looking as amazing as usual.

“Yow! Now, that’s _my_ Miranda.”

Miranda made no discernible sign that this pleased her but, somehow, Andy knew that it had.

Andy took the visitor’s chair and moved it to sit in front of Miranda. “How you feeling? You look fantastic.”

Miranda sat up a bit, winced and admitted, “Much better, I think. You know, I really do need to speak to Emily and Nigel but, of course I want to see the girls and John.” She hesitated, “I don’t know that I have the energy to do both.”

Andy looked her over—the woman still looked pale, despite all her glamour. “How about this—why don’t you call the girls and John and tell them to come over in the afternoon tomorrow and call Em and Nigel and ask them for a short meeting later today. Anything you can’t handle in a really short meeting?”

Andy knew this business meeting would be more for Miranda’s peace of mind than for any actual work getting done. But this would keep her from fretting, which was as healthful as anything. Beside that, she knew that acting healthy for one’s family could be far more draining than anything on Earth. She’d seen that with her mom.

Miranda considered this for a few moments and said, “Yes. I think you’re correct, Andrea.”

Andy handed her the cell phone.

The calls were made.

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Andy was coming back from the cafeteria with an extra-large bottle of apple juice for Miranda. Sucking tiny straws from square boxes were not her ex-boss’ style. As she rounded the corner, she saw Miranda’s room door was open. Because of her experience, she could hear Miranda’s voice even if it were as quiet as a mouse coughing in a coal chute.

Oh shit.

“I don’t care what you want. Don’t you have someone to harpoon with a needle or an enema? And you—PT boy—leave. Just leave.”

Oh shit.

Andy walked in with the apple juice and a smile. No need to escalate, she told herself. “Hi guys, what’s up?”

One look at Miranda’s preternaturally, insanely calm face and Andy realized the room was at Defcon 5. Total nuclear Priestly winter. Holy shit.

She sprang into action. “Okay, Rosy? PT man? Leave. Just leave.”

“Who the hell—wait a minute,” PT man said.

Andy cornered them and hissed, “If you want to work in this hospital or on the entire East Coast at any time in your foreseeable futures, you’d better leave. Right. This. Second.”

They scurried out of the room as Andy closed the door and turned a perfectly calm face toward Miranda, who was volcanic, furious.

“You shouldn’t have left me. You _always_ leave me.”

What was the answer to that?

“I’m sorry. I just went to get you juice. But I’m here. I always will be.”

She hesitated, then did the only thing that could express her feelings. She knelt before Miranda and put her head in her lap. “I’m sorry.”

Miranda looked down at the dark head in her lap and her fury vaporized. She ran her fingers through Andy’s hair. Such soft hair, such a sweet girl. Minutes ran by.

“No. I’m the one who should be sorry, Andy.”

Andy looked up and smiled, “You called me Andy, again.”

Miranda’s face was normal, calm again, “If you can call me sweetheart, I suppose I could call you Andy when we’re alone.”

“Ah. Andy. A term of endearment.”

“Call it what you will. I’m sorry. And never repeat this.”

Andy crossed her chest, “Take it to the grave.”

"Andy—will you help me?”

Andy looked up into Miranda’s troubled eyes. “Has that ever really even been a question, from the moment you…snared me?” She laughed happily.

Miranda had the grace to blush.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

As Andy stood, she felt a pang of anxiety. She'd put her head in Miranda's lap. Miranda had asked for help. Miranda had blushed. Okay. Yet again, they'd done and said things that were emotionally…unwieldy for both of them. Even as she felt Miranda scrambling internally to distance herself from what had just happened, she scurried to get the ice container, made a cup of apple juice and handed it to her.

"I'm going to get the physical therapist now and he's going to oversee what I do with you. You need to let him, okay?"

Miranda sipped the juice and replied, "Again. Only if it's you helping me or touching me—only that will be acceptable."

Oh boy. Andy tried to ignore the rush of feelings evoked by the idea of touching Miranda. "You need to remember that you've undergone major surgery and have serious painkillers in your system."

Miranda snorted. "I could hardly forget that, now could I, Andrea? Consider your more obvious allowances admitted."

Andy continued, "You're going to be prone to weakness, faintness or what they call orthostatic hypotension. You've been doing great in transfers to the bathroom and chair. All of that withstanding, when you stand and really walk around, your blood pressure may drop. That'll make you feel sick." She was gratified to see that Miranda was listening intently.

"So, when we're walking, if you feel nauseated, weak or light-headed, have changes in your vision—like tunneling or brown outs or bright lights, you need to tell me right away. Right away, okay?"

"In a nutshell, you're saying that I might faint."

"In a nutshell? Yes."

"I would never give anyone in this hospital that satisfaction. I wouldn't faint in front of these people if they ran me through with a sword."

Andy replied softly, "Normally no, but that brings us back to the fact you've had major surgery and are on serious drugs, Miranda. You can't always control your body under those conditions."

"Watch me." Miranda's voice was cool and accompanied by what Andy privately called the Black Ice Glare.

"Okay then," Andy answered brightly. "I'll bring them in, now?"

"If you must."

"Miranda? Is that okay?"

"Is there a problem with the acoustics in this room? I said—if you must."

Andy paused for only a moment. She was well aware the older woman was steadily working herself back into the calm and snarky, bitchy, angry mood she preferred when entering into situations that unnerved her. It was typical Miranda…poor, impossible Miranda. She surprised them both by leaning forward and kissing her softly on the cheek. Then once again.

And, surprisingly, Miranda allowed it. "My God, but you're an affectionate creature, Andrea."

Andy felt a twinge of embarrassment but not enough not to answer, "I suppose I am. Do you mind?"

Miranda waved her hand vaguely, didn't look at her but answered. "Not enough to mention."

Although she had just mentioned it, Andy thought, realizing suddenly that Miranda wasn't looking at her because she was blushing again. She'd made Miranda Priestly blush twice. She immediately walked out of the room. Throwing Miranda off her game was one thing—letting her know that you knew you had was quite another. She closed the door behind her.

As the door closed, Miranda slumped in her chair. Blushing! What and why on Earth? She cast her mind over the situation—hmph! That had to be it. No one in her memory had ever kissed her when she was angry. People did as they were told and got out of her way when she was angry, as they were meant to. Andrea had worked for her, for God's sake—she knew this. She knew this mood meant people lost jobs, left her office crying, cursed her up and down the halls of Runway.

Why would this girl kiss her as if she were a wayward child? Why had she let her? For that matter—why was the girl even here? Why did she want her here, need her here? The answers to all of these questions were almost glaringly obvious, but after decades of practice at disregarding the workings of her own heart and those of others, she remained slightly mystified. She touched the cheek where Andy had kissed her and hoped the girl would return quickly.

* * *

 

As Serena had promised, she and Emily were eating reasonable, though large by Runway standards, portions of Ethiopian food. They'd been having a perfectly lovely time and Emily found it easy to forget that this was a woman who was interested in her in 'that' way. It was just Serena, after all, and they laughed about office gossip as they ordered.

They'd finally been served and had tucked in when Emily's cell rang. After she exchanged a few pithy comments with the person on the other end, she rang off.

"Nigel. We've been summoned by La Priestly. Six o'clock."

Serena raised an eyebrow. "Work. Even in the hospital."

Emily shook her head as she scooped her kik wot into her mouth with her injeera. "We are talking about Miranda. Of course she'll work."

"Is anyone staying with her?"

Emily grimaced. "Yes. And you won't believe who. Andy."

"Andrea Andy? Andy Sachs? I saw her on CNN."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yes. Andy Sachs—and evidently everyone saw her on CNN. I'll admit she's been useful but I'm sure Miranda can't wait to be rid of her."

Serena smirked. "You are kidding me, correct?"

"No. Why should I be?"

Serena took another bite and chewed it slowly, looking into her lunch companion's eyes. "Did you never notice the way Miranda looked at her?"

Emily felt a shiver race down her spine. "What do you mean?"

Serena decided she'd said enough. Let the woman figure it out on her own. No need to excite her unduly twice in one day. "Never mind—tell me about yesterday."

* * *

 

As they walked the ten blocks back to Emily's apartment, the Englishwoman decided it had been a very satisfying first date if, indeed, that was what it had been. They had laughed and enjoyed each other but Serena had been horrified by Emily's recounting of the shooting. She'd also been amazingly sweet and complementary about Emily's role in saving Miranda's life. After ten minutes of silent walking, which Emily found oddly and distinctly comforting, Serena said, "I find, if you like Ethiopian food, it is something like an addiction. If you truly like it, you can not get enough of it and you find yourself thinking about it at odd times. Do you find it so?"

"Well, I really love it but I've never thought of it in that way."

"I do." She glanced at Emily. "You are like that to me, too, you know. I can not get enough of you and I think of you at odd times, all through the day."

Emily started and stared at Serena who only continued to walk, as relaxed as a lazy, effortlessly beautiful cat, a cat who hadn't just blown the roof off of Emily's mind. Emily spluttered for a few seconds—so Serena helped her.

"That wasn't a question, Emily. I was just telling you things I feel. You don't have to say anything. Let's just keep walking, shall we?" She linked her arm through Emily's, which was perfectly normal, Emily thought, and they walked without saying another word.

When they arrived at Emily's apartment, Serena declined an invitation to come in. "Next time, perhaps, if you would like to date me again. And if there is a next time, I think I will certainly have to kiss you. Count on that, please."

Emily looked up into Serena's eyes and made a decision. "There will be a next time and if you don't kiss me then, I…I don't know what I'll do….but it will be unpleasant."

Serena smiled her phenomenal smile. "Until next time, then. I'll see you Monday."

As Emily watched her walk down the hall, Serena said without turning, "Unless you wish to call me tomorrow—or tonight, even. I wouldn't mind the telephone company. And I will miss you unless." She turned, walking backwards for a few steps, winked and blew a kiss at her.

Emily shut her door, then promptly slid down it onto her posterior.

Wow.

* * *

 

At that moment, as Andy emerged from the room, a furious Rosy and PT man were still waiting.

Andy offered her hand to the PT man, "Andy Sachs."

He reluctantly shook it. "Jeff Johnson."

Andy took in the hostility, anxiety and bitterness of the two people in front of her—all emotions she knew so well when connected to her former boss. Still. Miranda came first.

"Jeff. She just needs to walk around the nurses' station, right?"

"Right."

"I can help her do that. I know you have a belt to put around her but that won't work for her. I'll let her hold onto me. I've done it tons of times and I've already told her about what might happen—orthostatic BP changes, faintness, all that. Just let me help you, okay?"

"But…the liability—"

"Is negotiable. Please don't make her call the hospital administrator because believe me, she will. I wouldn't let her fall to save my own life and it'll be so much easier for all of us if you let me help her."

Jeff looked unconvinced but the look in Andy's eyes was even more pleading than the tone of her voice. "Please, Jeff."

"Alright. But I'll have to see what you're doing."

"Fair enough."

Andy unbuttoned her button-down shirt revealing, as Miranda had accurately surmised, a white Hanes T-shirt tucked into her jeans. What Miranda had not seen was the thick brown belt threaded through the belt loops and a large red lacquered belt buckle with the name 'Andy' written in black lacquer script.

Andy looked down at it, then at Rosy and Jeff, "I have to warn you ahead of time—this belt buckle's not going to go over well." Her smile was so warm that Rosy and Jeff had to smile, too.

Andy knocked on the door and heard a muffled 'come in.' As they entered, Miranda was, once again, seated properly and regally in the recline-a-bit.

"Miranda—this is Jeff and you already know Rosy. He's going to make sure I don't drop you on your head while we're walking."

Miranda ignored the introductions, her stunned eyes focused on Andy's belt buckle. "Andrea?" The voice was glass, ice.

Andy cut a glance at Rosy and Jeff but didn't smile. "Yes, Miranda?"

"What is that on your belt?"

"A belt buckle, Miranda."

"Yes, I see that. Are you sure you weren't dropped on your head while you were dressing this morning? You may actually need a CAT scan or an MRI and I'm quite sure you'll be accommodated immediately once any medical professional sees that…thing."

To Rosy and Jeff, Miranda's voice did not sound in the slightest bit as if she were kidding. She sounded cutting, calmly sarcastic and bitchy.

Her tone didn't seem to faze Andy. "Oh, c'mon, Miranda—it was a gift from my dad."

"Oh? And when was that?"

Andy hung her head.

"When was this so-called 'gift' bestowed upon you, Andrea?"

"Okay. Alright. I was nine."

"I see. And because even you know that no sane woman ever accessorizes her adult fashion with what she enjoyed in grade school, you obviously wore this to provoke me."

Andy choked back a laugh and merely shook her head. "I didn't. I promise. The belt buckle fits the belt—and the belt's part of the PT."

"I fail to see how that can possibly be true."

"Watch and learn. You drank your juice?"

Miranda gave Jeff and Rosy a gimlet eye,"Of course I did, since you went to the trouble of abandoning me to the whims of hospital employees to purchase it."

Andy grinned and took her place by Miranda's chair. "Good deal. Let's keep that blood sugar up. Okay. You can stand by yourself, right?"

Blue eyes snapped fire, "Of course I can."

"Okay. Stand up and I'll show you how this belt will come in handy."

Miranda winced slightly as she stood and Andy took her place next to her. "Okay. Put your arm under this button-down, okay? Wrap your arm around me and hold onto my belt. I mean really grab it and hold it."

As Miranda did so, Andy said, "Good. Now. We're going to stand here for a minute and see how you feel." She put her arm around Miranda's waist, enough for the woman to feel the heat of her presence but without touching her.

"Here's the gig—we're going to walk around the nurses' station. You have a good hold on me—and I'm ready to grab you if you need me. You're not leaning on me and I'm not supporting you. What we're trying to accomplish is your walking under your own power. Is that cool, Jeff?"

"Yep—sounds good."

Andy nodded. "Miranda, you're totally safe. I've got you and won't let you fall, okay?"

Miranda felt a tad bit nauseated but she answered, "Acceptable."

"And remember what I said earlier, promise?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

Rosy and Jeff jumped as she snapped, "Oh, for the love of God, yes. I promise. Can we walk now? I am supposed to walk today, am I not?"

Andy rolled her eyes. "Sure. Let's go."

As they passed Rosy and Jeff, Miranda said, "I don't care what you say. I maintain that belt buckle was intentional on your part."

"It wasn't—but it did get your blood pumping, didn't it?"

As they slowly walked down the hall, Jeff followed them at a distance.

Miranda, who almost instantly felt more weak and sick as she walked than she'd imagined she possibly could, jokily whispered to keep from throwing up on the hallway carpet, "Don't look now, Andy, but I think we gotta tail." Miranda was right—she had a way with accents. She sounded pure street Brooklyn.

Andy looked behind her and winked at Jeff before turning back to her charge. "I think you're right. Wanna lose him?"

"Wit de price of gas dese days? Nah. Let 'im troll us. Let 'im rot. He got nuttin' on us."

Andy snickered, wondering where Miranda could possibly have heard such language. She smiled as she glanced at the women but her face fell as she looked more closely—at the pale face and paling lips. She nonchalantly wrapped her arm around her, supporting her, and whispered, "Feeling crappy?"

"Extraordinarily."

"Make it around or turn back?"

"Make it around."

"How'd I know you'd say that? Hold onto me, okay?" Andy felt Miranda's hand like a steel claw on her belt.

"I've got you."

She felt the woman lean into her and she held her gently but firmly by her waist. They made the second turn and took the long hall one slow step at a time. Miranda held her head high and her face was disdainful and expressionless, except to someone who knew her.

"Getting there, sweetie—you know I could get you a chair."

"No. Absolutely not."

"You got it. Keep walking."

As they finished the third turn and headed toward the room, Andy felt Miranda sinking a bit. She leaned in and quietly whispered, "Put both arms around me—like you're hugging me. I'll get you there."

Miranda wrapped her other arm around Andy's stomach and grabbed her belt, which necessarily placed her head nearly on the girl's shoulder. Andy held her forcefully, one arm over the arm Miranda had thrown 'round her stomach and the other placed gently but firmly around her waist. She whispered encouragement as they walked. As they passed the nurses' station, the eyebrows of everyone who saw them rose. They looked like two lovers out for a stroll.

Miranda chuckled as she passed the nurses' station. What the nurses didn't hear was that the laugh was instigated by Andy's having said, "You can throw up when we get there."

"That's almost a promise," Miranda answered.

As they entered the room, Andy turned and said to Jeff, "I have it from here—and we'll call you if we need you." She glared at him, "Seriously."

He assented, if only because of the look on the young woman's face. Andy closed the door and was prepared to walk Miranda quickly into the bathroom.

"I think I'm alright. I think if I can just get into bed…"

Andy immediately steered her forward and held her as she took off her robe. As she helped her into the bed, she elevated her feet and scampered to get her a cool washcloth. She poured some ginger ale and offered it to her.

After Miranda had taken a pull from the straw, she exhaled with disgust. "How entirely pathetic."

"No it wasn't. Are you kidding? You were shot basically only 24 hours ago. It's not pathetic to feel sick, Miranda. And I guarantee your pain meds have more to do with it than your surgery."

"Then they should just give me Tylenol."

"Well—that might not be enough."

"I'd much rather be in pain than incapacitated. Pain is obviously beside the point. Is that clock correct?

Andy looked at the clock and at her watch, "Yep—about 4:15."

"Nigel and Emily will be here at six."

"You'll feel much better by six."

"That's not possible. The kitchen assassins will have sent up what they call food by then." She took another long pull of ginger ale, "Did you know, when you're on a liquid diet in this hospital, that they feed you nothing but hooves?"

Andy blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you say hooves?"

"Hooves. You're presented with Jello—which I believe is made from horses' hooves."

Andy raised one eyebrow, realizing that gelatin was derived in this way in the past, but no longer. She didn't comment.

"And the beef bullion they brought me for lunch? There was nothing truly bovine about it. If there was, I'm quite sure they only dipped cow hooves in boiling water."

Andy nodded in sympathy, although she was internally writhing in amusement. "You know what? I bet I already planned to get you something better for dinner while Em and Nigel are here."

"From where?"

"I'll surprise you. Already cleared it with your doctor and it won't be solid but it'll be good. Speaking of that, I think you get real food—I mean solid food—tomorrow."

"I'm glad you corrected that statement. Solid food, not real. And I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever you get me, Andrea."

Andy smiled, "You won't just enjoy it. You'll love it. Now, you want to rest?"

"Absolutely not. I'm tired of resting."

"How about some UNO? I've got it in my bag." Off Miranda's astonished look, she continued, "UNO. You know, the card game."

"I have children, Andrea. I do know what UNO is. I just didn't know that you played it."

Andy shrugged, "Adults play it, too." She lowered her voice and said a bit saucily, "And, actually, it's perfect for hospitals, because even people on drugs can play it with people who aren't."

She almost laughed as Miranda's eyebrows shot up at the implied challenge. The woman was willful, capricious and often surprising, but in some situations she was entirely predictable. "Get the cards and my glasses, Andrea."

Bingo, Andy thought. Or, actually, UNO.

* * *

 

As Emily and Nigel walked toward Miranda's room, they saw Rosy exiting it, shaking her head. She nodded at them and said, sotto voce, "Better you guys than me."

Their hearts fell and their stomachs flipped a bit as they continued toward the room. They paused outside the room, and they stared at each other in surprise and horror as they heard a vociferous Andy saying, "You are such a…such an effin' cheater, Miranda!"

The reply was cool, "Not at all—I'm quite sure that's what the rules say. When you put your last card down, you say 'UNO.' That, and only that, signifies the win and the end of the hand. If you don't say the word before your opponent lays down another card, you forfeit the hand."

"But the nurse came in just as I was putting my last card down and—"

"Yes, I know. You paused to be polite when you should have been focusing on winning. Have you learned nothing from me, Andrea?"

"Sure I have. Now I know how to scam my opponent at UNO."

"Oh dear—another lesson you need to learn. A poor loser is so often a poor winner."

"And you'd know that exactly how?"

"I don't like your tone, Andrea."

"My tone? Miranda, I swear to God I'm going to…." Andy paused to think of something dire enough to threaten.

Emily's eyes were starting out of her head but to Nigel's very experienced ears, Miranda didn't sound angry at all. She was amused. Deeply amused. And for that matter, although Andy sounded angry, she was amused as well.

His opinion was verified when Miranda said, "Yes, yes. That's right, Andrea. Sleep on whatever you're going to do to punish me. You forfeit and I deal, correct?"

"Whatever. You're Swami Guru UNO, not me."

"I deal—and we can continue our game but not before seeing Emily and Nigel, who are standing outside the door. I can smell them."

Busted.

As they entered a bit sheepishly, they were pleased to see how much better Miranda looked—almost exactly like herself. In silken pajamas and a hospital bed, granted, but undoubtedly Miranda.

Andy gaped at Emily and said, "Holy Shit, Em!" as she pulled the rolling bedside table and cards out of the way.

Nigel looked from Emily to Andy, "I agree. I couldn't believe it."

Miranda didn't gape but she…looked intently and said quietly, dangerously, "Emily?"

"Yes, Miranda?"

"Come closer, Emily."

Emily stepped forward. Miranda's quiet command tone always did something to her knees but she did her best.

"Closer." Emily stepped forward.

"Closer." Emily was at the bedside and began to feel sweat beading on her back.

Miranda peered at her through her glasses, then over her glasses for the space of perhaps thirty seconds, which Emily experienced as seven years. "Who did your makeup today, Emily? You didn't."

The Englishwoman flinched. "Yes. Right. Well. Serena met me at home today so that we could go to lunch and she said she wanted to show me a different look."

Miranda's head tilted. "Serena? My Serena?"

"Our Serena." Emily was abashed that she'd corrected this so quickly, "I mean yes, Runway Serena."

Miranda sniffed and said somewhat caustically, "Sometimes I honestly think that woman is toying with me."

Emily was horrified. Had she gotten her Serena in trouble? Miranda seemed to read her thoughts as she continued, "Only in the sense that she could so easily be a supermodel—and she's evidently just as accomplished as a makeup artist. Why does she toil away in art production?"

"She likes it, maybe?" Andy's voice wasn't all that hesitant.

"Hmmm." Miranda considered this, seemed to accept it and looked at Emily again, who was suddenly feeling slightly boneless under the filleting knife of her employer's gaze. "Your makeup is exquisite today, Emily. Your style is your own, of course, and you can do what you will, but I can't say that I've ever realized how beautiful you are until now."

Okay. Miranda had called her beautiful, which made Emily feel like a boil-in-bag vegetable that had been left in the water too long. But she'd also spoken, which required a response. "That's very kind of you, Miranda. Serena said nearly the same thing."

"Smart girl. Shall we have a meeting?"

Andy jumped to attention. "Cool. Em—seriously—you look amazing. Have fun, you guys. Places to go, people to see."

Miranda tensed and her eyes immediately clouded over. "How long will you be gone?"

Andy saw the look in Miranda's eyes and rushed to respond. "Maybe an hour and a half? Remember, I've got big liquid dinner plans for you. I'll get it and you guys can meet. No worries. Or do you need longer?"

"No." Miranda said firmly. "No longer." Her eyes looked glazed over with concern but Andy didn't feel comfortable doing what she really wanted to do—kiss her. "I'll be back soon then and you can eat before I kick your ass at UNO, okay?"

"I believe the phrase is 'you wish.'"

"You'll see. You'll eat your dinner and those words." Andy grabbed her bag and Emily and Nigel were finally able to take in the belt buckle.

Emily choked back a laugh and Nigel coughed before saying "Ah, Andy. A souvenir from your saloon days?" The kindness in his eyes belied the snotty comment.

"Something like that—little Andy Oakley. You can laugh it up in front of my back—but it's more fun behind it so I'll get going. Miranda—call me if you need anything at all, okay?"

"Andrea?"

Miranda's tone was troubled and Andy immediately crossed back to the bed, "Can I get you something before I go?"

"Maybe some more ginger ale?"

"Sure."

As Andy jumped to make Miranda an icy cup of ginger ale, Emily wondered why she hadn't just asked her instead. She and Nigel watched as Miranda took it and smile, a real smile, at Andy.

Andy patted her on the shoulder "We'll get those pain meds bumped back for you later, okay? You'll be running all over this joint tomorrow. And maybe you'll be able to play UNO without having to cheat."

"Out." Miranda said. "Out. Forage or hunt and gather food and get back here as soon as you can."

"Will do chief. Promise. Later, Nigel, Em."

Emily scowled internally and Nigel said hmmm to himself.

* * *

 

As they discussed what was basically an autopsy of what had gone right and wrong with the Fall issue, Nigel watched Miranda glimpsing at the clock, at the door, at the clock, at the door.

After they'd gotten a surprising amount of work done in very little time, Miranda went from Runway to another tangent. "Emily, call Dennis Fuller on Monday and tell him that I want to endow a scholarship at Dalton for one child's education. I'm including a clothing and transportation stipend. I need to know the tax ramifications, etc. etc. And call Dalton and let them know I'll send the financial information over this week. They've been after me for years to do this. But do let them know that I already have a child in mind so they needn't besiege me with candidates. Find out what we'll need and we'll go from there."

"Of course, Miranda."

If Miranda hadn't been Miranda, Nigel might have said something about her generosity. But he knew she'd prefer to act as if the donation of potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars were something akin to offering someone a one-time manicure. He felt compelled enough by curiosity to ask what he hoped was an innocuous question. "Do you mind if I ask how you met this child?"

"What child," she asked, nonsensically.

"The child you're sending to Dalton."

She waved her hand dismissively, "Oh, Juan Carlo? He's the son of my nurse tech. If he's half what she says he is, he needs a good school."

Emily didn't bother to glance at Nigel. In her mind, she colored them both entirely stunned without having to verify it.

* * *

 

Miranda actually dismissed Emily and Nigel after only an hour, telling herself that she was letting them get on with their weekend. Actually, she wanted to fret about Andrea's absence by herself. Which was childish. Which she didn't understand. Which would not do. She opened the portable DVD player Emily had left her and spooled up the news coverage of her shooting. She sighed and sniffed as she watched item after item. Typical. Sensationalistic. But then—there was the girl she was waiting for. Her Andrea. She was stunned to see tears springing into Andrea's eyes and incredibly impressed at how well the girl had handled herself. She replayed this section multiple times, then closed the DVD player and her eyes. She told herself she was tired but she had the nagging and outrageous thought that she suddenly felt unequal to the task of being conscious without Andrea at her side.

* * *

 

As Andy rode back to the hospital in her yellow cab with a cooler full of food that was so high-tech that she knew it probably usually carried vital organs, she did another emotional run-through. Okay. Yet again, she was caught up in the excitement of doing anything—anything—to make Miranda Priestly happy. She thought about her day. Had it only been just over 24 hours since they'd careened into each other yet again? It felt timeless. This time, surely, it was better, more reasonable. It was more reasonable because she wanted to do it, wasn't afraid of being fired. Or was that more pathetic? Probably, if she really thought about it. She sighed. She knew she'd put up with anything, even water-boarding, for Miranda. She swallowed and admitted to herself that being without Miranda was sensory deprivation for her, in spades. She needed Miranda. And she could see that Miranda needed her. But needed her how?

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.
> 
> I quote Eliot’s lovely poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in this chapter. Although I do so with great respect, he’s probably rolling about in his grave. But let him—because we all need a bit of exercise in this world and the next.

* * *

Andy grinned as she rode up on the hospital elevator carrying her precious cargo from Scotty Peace, Miranda’s favorite chef. She suspected that this was not only because he was a great culinary artist, but was also as notoriously difficult as Miranda herself. As young as he was, he’d already started a number of stellar restaurants, only to leave all of them in whatever fit of pique suited him on any particular day. Despite his talent, the only reason he was not persona non grata to investors in current ventures was because he invariably left exceptionally well-trained sous chefs to pick up the pieces. Whatever he started flourished—whether he was there or not.  
  
He was hopelessly talented, incapable of accepting anything except perfection to the point of absurdity and a maverick to boot. Hence, Andy assumed, the appreciation and association. It hadn’t been hard to get in touch with him. She’d never given her psyche a real ‘talking to’ about why she’d kept every one of Miranda’s important numbers on her personal cell phone, even after changing carriers. Because what did that matter, right?  
  
When she’d called Scotty, he’d remembered her immediately and praised her media appearance. He’d commiserated and moaned dramatically over Miranda’s plight and had sworn to feed her, “As a queen—as an injured empress deserves. I know what they’re doing to her palate in that hospital—sheer brutality. Leave this to me, Andrea. I will make her sing like a nightingale.”  
  
Andy had rolled her eyes as he’d said this. He’d always been a bit over the top verbally when they'd spoken but Miranda swore by him, so here she was with the space shuttle of all coolers. Which she decided as she winced, shifting the weight on her shoulder, might not be all that much lighter than the actual space shuttle.  
  
She didn’t know whether Nigel and Emily would still be in the room. She didn’t know how Miranda would be, how she’d act when she arrived. Who knew? You never knew. A minute—an hour could change everything with that woman. A snippet of T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock poem flashed in her mind, “ _Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet_.” She’d learned that lesson, painfully and with a vengeance, at Runway and particularly with Miranda. She had a face for every face Miranda presented to her. Or had had before, anyway.  
  
Now, she didn’t know which face to prepare for how she was beginning to understand she felt about the woman. Or how the woman might feel about her, whatever that was, although it was obviously something more than either of them had thought. She raised her chin, took a deep breath and reminded herself of some important facts. She was not an employee. She was an adult woman who was not entirely inexperienced and not entirely an emotional idiot. Which didn’t mean she didn’t feel terribly conflicted—wanting so much to reach out and wanting almost equally and desperately to protect herself from what she felt must inevitably be a crushing, humiliating rejection.  
  
As she quietly opened the door to the room, she found Miranda alone and sleeping. At least, she thought she had been until the woman said, without opening her eyes, “I’ve been waiting for you, said the spider to the fly.”  
  
Although the effect was slightly creepy, Andy smiled and said, “Ha ha.” She turned on the overhead light. “Rise and shine, cupcake—your dinner is here.”  
  
As Miranda pressed a button to rise into a sitting position, she said with some asperity, “I’ll put up with ‘sweetheart’, Andrea, but ‘cupcake’ is out of the question.”  
  
Andy ignored her as she unburdened herself of the cooler. “You’ll let me call you any damned thing I want to once you see what I’ve brought you.”  
  
“It would have to be quite impressive, then.”  
  
“Maybe it is—maybe not. Scotty said so—but who knows.”  
  
Miranda crowed with delight, “Scotty?! Scotty’s in there?!”  
  
Andy’s reply was dry, “Well, _no_. Not Scotty himself because, even for you, I draw the line at carting dismembered chefs around in coolers. But yeah—Scotty cooked for you.”  
  
Miranda’s eyebrows rose, “Why? Did he see the news? Did he call you?”  
  
“No—I called him and asked.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Her anxiety at seeing Miranda’s inscrutable, yet slightly mocking expression, made her suddenly exasperated enough to answer honestly, “Because I wanted to make you happy….” then mumbled something under her breath Miranda was sure she hadn’t heard correctly.  
  
“Pardon me? What was that, Andrea?”  
  
Andy glowered. “I said I wanted to make you happy, you dumb-ass.”  
  
Miranda’s face didn’t change for two seconds but then she smiled—beamed, actually. “ _Dumb-ass_? I don’t remember anyone ever calling me that, Andrea. To my face, that is. Of course, simply everyone calls me worse behind my back. Bitch is my usual sobriquet, I believe. Congratulations for your originality.”  
  
Andy hung her head, “I wasn’t trying to set a precedent.”  
  
“Nonsense. Precedents are important and they’re always noteworthy for a reason. I’m impressed. What’s for dinner?”  
  
_Jesus,_ Andy thought. _Just like her. Her coffee’s not hot enough and she has a conniption. You call her a dumb-ass and she’s happy. Go figure._  
  
She opened the cooler and began unloading as she recited the menu. “You’ve got some sort of beef bouillon here….then tomato aspic iced with scallop and lobster foam and lemon sorbet with candied lime zest. How’s that sound?”  
  
As Andy turned for a reply, she felt as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus, beholding the first openly sexual expression she’d ever seen on Miranda’s face. “Andrea, I’m so hungry for good food right now that I may need a cigarette afterward.”  
  
Andy cursed herself for blushing, yet again, but continued, “Let me get it plated first—then I can leave you and your romantic dinner alone.”  
  
“Of course you won’t. You’re not leaving me. I know Scotty—I’m sure he sent enough for an army. You’ll have dinner with me.”  
  
_Not looking into those eyes_ , Andy thought, as Miranda’s words came to life in front of her. Sure enough, there was china and silverware for two, as well as a….what? Yep. Two perfectly blooming roses, one pink, one white, in a slender, gorgeous piece of silver art. Must be nice.  
  
“First thing’s first, Miranda—let’s get you in the recline-a-bit.”  
  
Miranda swung her feet over the side of the bed quickly and stood up, then swayed. Andy was at her side instantly, gently grabbing her and hearing herself sounding exactly like her third grade teacher, who was a total bitch but invariably correct (which hadn’t quite seemed fair at the time).  
  
“Damnit! What’d I tell you, Miranda? No sudden changes in elevation!”  
  
“I wouldn’t let them give me pain medication this afternoon—I thought I’d feel better than this.”  
  
Andy counted to five, quickly. “I’m sure you will soon. This food will do you a world of good.”  
  
As Miranda settled into her chair, her face again took on a rapacious look. The woman was starving. Fair enough, Andy thought. She ate like a bird generally, had had major surgery, had taken a shit-load of morphine and then had starved herself by refusing the crappy hospital food. No wonder.  
  
She set the rolling table with two place settings and added the rose as she scooted it forward. Miranda smirked when she saw it. “Nice touch.”  
  
Andy snorted and didn’t think before replying, “Well, yeah. Of course. But your life is chock full of them, isn’t it Miranda?”  
  
The pressure in the room changed immediately. Something about the tone of Andy’s voice had not pleased Miranda.  At all.  The seconds stretched by and then the woman’s voice was deadly and cool. “And I worked for every one of them, Andrea.”  
  
Andy felt her heart drop into her stomach. “I’m sure—I mean, I know you did.”  
  
Miranda replied, “No, no. Actually, I’m quite sure you don’t know anything about it at all.”  
  
Oh shit. Andy began to shake as she sat opposite Miranda.  
  
“Did you know, by the way, that Martha Stewart served as a maid to pay her bills when she was a young woman?”  
  
“Nn….no.”  
  
“She did and she’s not ashamed of it. Did you know that I worked as a seamstress to put myself through college?”  
  
Andy’s voice was quiet. “No.”  
  
“Did you work in college, Andrea?”  
  
Andy gulped, then answered truthfully, “No. I had a full scholarship.”  
  
Miranda’s voice and even her quirking smile were acidic with scorn. “Well, wasn’t that nice for you? But surely you understand that not all of us are as smart as you are.”  
  
Andy squirmed internally, “Miranda, please. I know I’m not as smart as—“  
  
Miranda ignored her—“No, you think I’m ‘to the manor born.’ That I’ve had people bowing and scraping to me from my infancy. Isn’t that what you really think of me?”  
  
Andy felt like dirt. Actually not dirt—like a worm writhing in dirt. “No—I mean—of course not. I guess…no. I mean, I never really thought about it.”  
  
“Your rhetorical skills fail you when you’re emotional, Andrea. You need to work on that if you want to get anywhere—even in journalism. For your information, the way people treat me, the things they give me, the services they render to me, are the results of decades of work. Do you understand that? Can you wrap your mind around that? Decades of grueling and tireless work. Work that began, frankly, before you were even born.”  
  
She looked pointedly at the roses, then at Andy, “I will not have anyone sneering at a polite gesture from a dear colleague that demonstrates respect for what I’ve accomplished, which I needn’t tell you is quite considerable. And don’t think I don’t understand that much of what is showered upon me is sycophantic bullshit from people who do not like me or respect me or even hate me but want something from me. I may not be as smart as you are but I assure you I’m not stupid. Now, we should eat. Our dinner will be getting cold—or warm, as each case may be.”  
  
Andy didn’t feel like eating—she felt like throwing up. She served Miranda, then herself, poured Pellegrino into the crystal glasses Scotty had sent and sat down with a flaming red face. She didn’t know how she was going to even attempt to eat because she wanted to cry. She couldn’t look at the woman because….oh fuck, she was _totally_ going to cry and then Miranda would see and then she would laugh and then….  
  
“Andrea?”  
  
Two fat tears fell down Andy’s face as she looked up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  
  
Miranda looked at her quizzically then dipped one of the linen napkins Scotty had sent into her glass of Pellegrino. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Just because I chose to make a point—a valid point, mind you—does not mean that I’m truly angry. Lean forward, you silly girl.”  
  
Andy did as requested and Miranda gripped her chin, wiping her tears away with her napkin. “There, there, Andrea” she said, as if to a child. “Do you always blush this much?”  
  
Andy didn’t know what imp of her conscience continued to compel her to tell the truth, “I’ve blushed more around you than I have in my entire life—ever.”  
  
Miranda almost smiled, then released Andy’s chin, saying softly “Incarnadine suits you very well, Andrea. You’re a writer—you know the word, don’t you?”  
  
Andy blushed more deeply.  
  
Miranda chuckled, “So you do—let’s eat.”  
  
“Thank you but no. I don’t think I can—you go ahead.”  
  
Miranda regarded her for a long moment and Andy felt her damned eyes welling again. Miranda knocked the breath out of her by asking, “Did I hurt your feelings, Andy?”  
  
Andy nodded, then whispered, “A little.”  
  
“I apologize.” Miranda said, letting her eyes drop, tracing patterns on the edge of her soup bowl as she added, “But you hurt my feelings first. I do have them, you know, despite my reputation. But it’s one of my host of failings. Where my feelings are concerned, I seem incapable of turning the other cheek. If you hurt me, I always, and ruthlessly, hurt you right back.”  
  
Andy was so stunned by this entirely uncharacteristic bit of personal honesty from the other woman that it took her a few seconds to reply. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Miranda. But you can—and have—turned the other cheek.” Miranda’s eyes shot upward. “You did in Paris—I mean, after Paris. You didn’t hurt me right back.”  
  
Miranda’s cheeks reddened and she knew that Andy saw it, so she flapped both hands, “Enough of this. Remember _me_? The starving, bullet-ridden patient? We’ve established that I’m sorry, that you’re sorry. Can we not consider ourselves kissed and made up so that we can eat?”  
  
Andy felt a sudden surge of confidence, and wiped her eyes as she smiled and stood. “Nope. Not yet.” She leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s cheek. She drew back slightly and whispered, “Now, turn the other cheek.” Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered but she turned her face and Andy kissed the other cheek, which was now deliciously rosy and incredibly warm under her lips. She leaned forward, so closely to Miranda’s ear she was nearly touching it, and whispered, “See? You can do it.” She was gratified to feel Miranda shiver at the words. As she took her seat, she smiled again and said, “I think we’re good now.”  
  
Miranda couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Thank God! Eat now or I promise that I will kill you and eat it all myself.”  
  
Andy didn’t care if she ate or not because she was as happy as a cat having just swallowed a canary the size of a pterodactyl. After feeling like a worm only minutes before, she felt a soaring feeling of pure joy. This was one of the hazards of dealing with the Wizard of Oz that was Miranda. You were forlorn, pained and miserable in your black and white world, then you were whirled around in a fucking tornado, scared out of your wits and then you landed in a world full of color and amazement and happiness. And found yourself ready, willing even, to click your heels together and start all over again. Rinse and repeat.

* * *

They started with the soup. Miranda had steak nearly every day of her working life and Andy had always enjoyed a well-prepared cut of beef. Miranda sipped one spoonful and looked, to Andy’s desiring eyes, as lustful as she’d ever seen anyone look. Andy sipped a spoonful and realized she had to look exactly as smitten. The soup was the very richest essence of a perfectly marinated medium rare cut of beef. It was, Andy thought in the privacy of her mind, fucking heaven in a bowl. Evidently, Miranda could see what she was thinking because she said, with a quirk of an eyebrow, “I assume we’ll be sharing that cigarette afterward?”  
  
Andy smiled, relaxing, “Absolutely.” She looked at her quivering slice of aspic. “I’ve never had that before.”  
  
“Really? Tomato aspic? Your taste buds are going to explode—if you like tomatoes and scallops and lobster, that is. You do like tomatoes, I assume.”  
  
“Who doesn’t?”  
  
“I’m sure I don’t know—some people used to think they were poisonous.”  
  
“Yeah—but in the really late Middle Ages, right?”  
  
Miranda waved her hand vaguely, “Middle Ages, Mid-West. You are from the Mid-West, correct?  
  
Andy gave this comment the look it deserved and Miranda’s eyes twinkled as she continued, “Well—the tomato part will be astonishing—Scotty grows his own organic tomatoes—so you’ll be tasting the very essence of the perfect tomato. And he knows I’m fond of scallops and lobster, which have quite distinctive flavors but are certainly lighter in piquancy. It should be a lovely combination. Let me see.” She took a bite and looked almost feral in her appreciation.  
  
As Andy took her first bite, she could feel Miranda’s gaze. “Tell me what you think, Andrea—exactly what you think.”  
  
Andy let the incredible morsel dissolve in her mouth. “Wow. Even though it’s chilled, the tomato tastes like…warmth and earth and summer. And I can taste the scallop and the lobster individually—but they only enhance the deeper, sharper…savory flavor of the tomato. It’s entirely the essence of red….”  She grinned, “It’s incarnadine—but with a gently mixed, subtle flavor of the sea. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”  
  
Nothing about Miranda’s face changed except for her eyes, “Well. We’ll see about that. You’re young yet, Andrea. I’m sure you have other delights awaiting you.”  
  
Okay. If that had been a guy, that would certainly have seemed like more than a bit of a…forward pass, if that’s how Miranda had meant it. And God knows that was how Andy was ready to receive it. She suddenly wanted to swallow her fork, her spoon, her entire place setting but instantly reminded herself that she was a woman, not a girl. So, in for a penny, in for a pound. She raised her glass and looked at Miranda with eyes that withheld none of her desire, “To future delights, then.”  
  
Miranda’s eyebrows lifted a bit and then there was a smile—but only in her eyes. She lightly touched her glass to Andy’s. “Indeed. To current and future delights.”

* * *

As they ate, they discussed Miranda’s plans for Juan Carlo’s scholarship. Although Andy was delighted by the idea, Miranda was pleased that the girl offered many suggestions she would never have thought of. After finishing their sorbet, which was every bit as lovely as the rest of the food, Andy began to clean up after the feast. As she did so, she asked, “Miranda—isn’t that a lot of money to spend on a boy you don't know?”  
  
“I’ll know him from his test scores, which we’ll have to produce to get him into the school. Beside that, I fully intend to meet him and frighten the life out of him, which will be good for his character.”  
  
_No one better at that,_ Andy thought, grinning as she wiped the dishes clean with a towel the hospital was probably going to have to discard. “Uhm…..one more question.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You do know that a lawyer would probably tell you not to make such a large financial commitment while you’re….under the influence of drugs and….hmmm….after having had such an emotionally shocking experience. I mean—you know, like being shot.” Andy winced. Miranda was right—her diction went to hell when she was nervous. She looked back at Miranda, “You see what I mean?”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy for a few moments and Andy quailed internally, ready for anything. “Andrea, as I understand it, I’m under the influence of opioids, not hallucinogenics. Does something about my behavior suggest that I’m not in my right mind?”  
  
“No! I mean—of course not.  But you’ve been a little bit—“  
  
“Nicer? More personable? More approachable?”  
  
Andy sighed, “Yeah. All those things.”  
  
“Stop your char-girl work for just a minute and sit down, please.”  
  
Andy sat across from Miranda and watched as the woman offered her a gentle, tender smile. “Andrea, don’t imagine that the woman who carries _Runway_ on her back is the sum total of who I am. How do you imagine I would treat a personal friend who came to help me in a time of need? Do you think I would keep myself as walled in as I must professionally with a person I truly and dearly value personally?”  
  
Andy was too stunned to speak.  
  
“Let me tell you, Andy, if you don’t know. I would treat someone like…let’s say for the sake of example…. _you_ as kindly as I know how—which I’m well aware is insufficient by normal human standards.  I can’t help but know that my version of velvet glove treatment is the equivalent of a normal hand covered in chain mail. In the armor sense, not the epistolary sense, naturally.”  
  
At this, Andy gaped, “How’d you know that? Vocabulary wins me over every time.” She leaned forward, patted Miranda’s hand. “I can feel the velvet but I’m completely accustomed to your chain mail.”  
  
“Which is one of the reasons I think we get along so well.”  
  
“I think so, too.”  
  
Miranda began to pick at her pajamas with one hand, and looked away from Andy. “So all in all, I think this was a very successful first date, don’t you?”  
  
Andy’s eyes, which were gorgeously large to begin with, widened into saucers. She croaked, “Date?”  
  
Miranda waved one hand languidly, “Yes. A _date_. I’m sure you’ve had at least one, since you ended up with that fry-cook. We shared a lovely dinner, with roses, no less. And because I’m in the mix, we necessarily had a small fight that was soothed over with kissing, then we had pleasant conversation and now we’re talking about our relationship. Isn’t that considered a date? Even in the Mid-West?”  
  
Andy swallowed hard. Leave it to Miranda to talk around  a point but then go from zero to 150MPH in two seconds flat. Although she was a woman, Andy instantly manned up. “Absolutely, Miranda. The best first date I’ve ever had.”  
  
Now Miranda did look at her. “I agree….now, can you help me to bed?”  
  
Andy waggled her eyebrows, “On our first date?”  
  
Miranda rolled her eyes but Andy ignored it, too busy rejoicing internally with a big brass band of happiness.  “I think before you get into bed, we should take a walk around the nurse’s station. Nan will not only be proud, it’ll be good for you.”  
  
“Nan is acceptable—Rosy is not.”  
  
Andy helped Miranda up as she said, “You like Nan because she’s no-nonsense and kicks ass. Rosy’s efficient and skilled but…”  
  
“Officiously and unnecessarily loud.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Take it from me. One never needs to raise one’s voice if one has true authority.”  
  
“Well, you’re certainly the expert on that. Now, just put your arm around me and—”  
  
Miranda looked into her eyes with a steely glance, “Just know that if I put my arm around you and even _if_ I enjoy it, this doesn’t excuse that belt buckle.’  
  
Andy’s face was wooden. “Of course not, Miranda.”  
  
As they walked around the nurses’ station, Andy whispered, “I’m so glad you said something first—I thought it would take months for us to—“  
  
“Nonsense, Andrea. When you see a thing—see a decision to be made, make it and follow through. I recognized how I felt—I made the decision and I followed through.”  Her voice softened, “But I am gratified that you saw it, as well.”  
  
Andy whispered, “I didn’t just see it, Miranda—I felt it, too.”  
  
Miranda suddenly really felt it, too—like a jolt to her spine and other pleasant places—but she continued to walk with only the lightest touch on her companion.

* * *

Although this turn of events, or Miranda’s expression of it, had hit Andrea like a bolt of lightning, it was something the older woman had mulled over after Emily and Nigel had left. After tossing and turning, unable to sleep, she admitted to herself that as outrageous—as impossible—as it was, that she was miserable, simply miserable, without Andrea. Which might, she suddenly understood, explain why she’d been at least twice or thrice the tyrant she’d ever been to her assistants over the past four months. The main fault in all of them was that not one of them was Andrea. She also realized she wasn’t entirely surprised Isabelle had shot her—she’d nearly wanted to shoot herself.  
  
Ahhh…..  
  
Other people might have taken weeks or months to understand themselves or decide what they should do. For Miranda, it took only a few minutes. This was one of the reasons she was who she was. She always saw the little picture—she always saw the big picture. And she always understood both in a flash. She made decisions instantly, trusted them implicitly, and let the pieces fall where they may. She’d put her mental budgetary line items up in her mind:  
  
1\. Andrea must never leave her.  
2\. She wanted Andrea. And Andrea was obviously interested, if her behavior was any clue.  
3\. Andrea was straight. She was straight.  
4\. She didn’t care. They would both have to deal with this.  
5\. Waking up with Andrea was lovely—even necessary.  
6\. Going to sleep with Andrea and waking up in the middle of the night with Andrea close to her was more than lovely—it was essential.  
7\. Andrea would never work for her again but she must never leave her. Ever again.  
  
And so, given these facts, she’d made the decision to pursue Andrea Sachs romantically.  


* * *

And so, she thought, as they walked down the hallway, what had she done? She’d nearly immediately picked a fight over a relatively innocuous comment Andy had made as soon as she’d seen her. How entirely typical of her, if she did say so herself.  She grasped Andy’s belt more tightly.  
  
As they passed one particular picture in the hallway, Andy felt Miranda shiver as she said, “There’s the abomination.”  
  
“You saw it the first time around? But you were so sick and—”  
  
“Pardon me? Could you possibly think I wouldn’t notice that someone hung a picture with the left side skewed one-quarter of an inch lower than the right? Of course I noticed it—I could be fainting or even dying and notice that.”  
  
“Yeah. I think maybe it’s a built-in obsessive-compulsive personality test—I tried to straighten it last night but it’s screwed into the wall that way.”  
  
Miranda said, quietly, in an indefinable accent, “Screwed inta da wall? Geez Louise, Andy, it’s like a true-ta-life horror-show, innit?”  
  
Andy snorted her appreciation and asked, “Do you do these accents for your friends, Miranda?”  
  
Miranda’s voice was cool and proper again. “For one thing, I have very few friends. For another, I found out a very long time ago that I’m a natural mimic…which accounts for the voice you know as mine. Believe me, my accent and intonation are entirely intentional and manufactured, although they are natural to me now. But to answer your question, I never ‘do’ accents for anyone. Ever. Except for you, apparently.”  
  
Without thinking, Andy said, “ _You prepare a face to meet the faces that_ —“  
  
“Yes, yes, Andrea.” Andy was stunned as Miranda continued to quote the poem from memory:  
  
_“And time for all the works and days of hands  
That lift and drop a question on your plate;  
Time for you and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions…” _  
  
“I actually learned quite a lot from that Prufrock poem—that the mundane and cowardice and indecision kill you quickly or agonizingly slowly—but they always kill you or leave you wishing you were dead. I chose otherwise, very early in life.”  
  
They continued to walk as Andy responded, “True enough—you’d certainly be Prince Hamlet, not an attendant lord.”  
  
“In the Prufrock poem’s sense, yes. In the dramatic sense, I think Hamlet was nuts.”  
  
“Oh, c’mon. That’s arguable, Miranda.”  
  
“Arguable? Hamlet took, I seem to remember, perhaps a billion pages of dialogue to do what I would have done in five minutes.”  
  
“But then we’d have missed out on one of the gems of the Western literary canon. It’s _drama_ , Miranda—if you wrote it, it would have been five pages long.”  
  
Miranda sniffed, “True enough. I am considered a rather ruthless editor. Shakespeare and I would have certainly clashed and probably violently.”  
  
For the second time that day, the people in the nurses’ station watched the two women laugh as they passed by.  


* * *

At that moment, Emily was sifting through her feelings about her brand new Sapphic tendencies while watching an inane game show she could never have tolerated if she hadn’t been nearly beside herself on her own couch. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She was certain about a few things and wondered about a few others. Yes to Serena. Yes to continuing whatever was happening between them. But what about Andy’s continued presence in Miranda’s hospital room and what had Serena meant by that comment she’d made about them?  
  
That she was personally more than slightly obsessed with Miranda was no news to her but she wouldn’t appreciate a broadside and would avoid it if possible. She wouldn’t be blown out of the water by the Good Ship Andrea if she could help it. She looked at her phone, and then at the game show. Phone. Game show. Phone. Game show. Fuck it all to hell. Serena had said she could call but….  
  
Wouldn’t that seem a bit thick? Or too eager? Desperate even? Shouldn’t she show Serena she could handle an incipient Lesbian relationship coolly and quietly with the best of the other…possibly incipient Lesbians?  
  
She leapt up to make tea, which she considered an Englishwoman’s prerogative in times of stress outside of tea time. As she poured cream into her cup, she scowled. Call her. She’d call her.  
  
She sipped her tea and glared at her game show and then at the phone. Then again. And again. And almost jumped off the couch when the phone rang. She picked it up.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Are you thinking about me? Because I’m thinking of you.” The tea was not as warm as Serena’s voice.  
  
Emily smiled at the room—at the world. “Actually—I was—and I was just thinking about calling but I didn’t want to seem—“  
  
“Desperate?”  
  
“Well… _yes_.”  
  
“No problem, my dear—I’ll be the desperate one. Does that suit you?”  
  
“Perfectly.”  
  
 “Good—and my pleasure. What’s wrong?”  
  
“Why do you assume something’s wrong?”  
  
“You’re drinking tea—with cream—which makes your voice sound a bit different.”  
  
“How did you know th—“  
  
“I’ve been studying you for a year. I know your habits. Tea with cream means something’s wrong. The cream makes your voice one half-tone higher than usual.”  
  
Emily had forgotten that Serena had told her she’d had extensive musical training.  
  
“Yes. Right. I’m just still a bit flummoxed by what you said about Andy and Miranda at lunch today.”  
  
Serena knew this would be sore—would have to be an incredibly sore spot for Emily. She tempered her response. “I only meant that Miranda seemed to trust Andy in a way that she trusts very few people—for whatever reason. Much in the same way she trusts and depends upon Nigel.”  
  
“But why? Why her? Why that silly girl?”  
  
Serena knew better than to answer entirely honestly but she would never be entirely disingenuous, either. She wanted a real friendship or relationship with Emily, not a sham.  
  
“Emily, you cannot honestly say that Andrea is silly. True, she is not one of us—she is not a part of the fashion world. But she is very intelligent, hardworking and incredibly and honestly kind in ways we are not. I’m sure I needn’t mention that she’s also quite lovely.  Miranda valued her tremendously—and it showed—that was all that I was saying.”  
  
Serena heard Emily take this in—with a snort into the phone. “Well. If you put it that way.”  
  
“Emily?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“There’s a beauty pageant just starting on channel 287—you have the same cable I do, don’t you? I believe I saw that when I was there.”  
  
“Yes….”  
  
“Turn to it and let’s watch it together—we can be catty about the gowns and talent together, okay?”  
  
Emily took a happy sip of tea, “Delicious.”  
  
“Me? The idea—or the tea?”  
  
“All three of you. But you’re first.”  
  
After they’d finally hung up, three hours of chatter and howling laughter later, Emily realized that she’d just had the best time of her life. And that she might conceivably, sometime in the future, find herself in love. With Serena. Who knew?

* * *

Before the end of the pageant, Miranda had made a much more successful circuit around the nurses’ station than she had earlier, which she entirely attributed to Scotty’s food. Andy had assisted her into the bathroom and they’d both brushed their teeth. And then…and then…Miranda had swayed toward her and Andy knew, without having any reason to know, that Miranda had just wanted to hug her. So she gently hugged her.  
  
But this was not a regular hug—it was a full body hug. Andy could feel Miranda’s breasts slightly beneath hers, could feel their thighs touching and she was instantly breathless. Of course she knew she was slightly taller than Miranda and of course she was used to holding the much larger presence of a man. But she instantly realized she’d thought of Miranda as so much larger than life that it was nearly impossible to understand that the woman was so small in her arms. Because of this and because of Miranda’s injuries, she held her lightly and tenderly and sighed with the sheer bliss of it. Despite the lightness of the touch, it was still electric and she knew, as lovers do, that Miranda was feeling exactly the way she was.  
  
She felt Miranda move her face, her lips brushing as close to her ear as was possible, “I have the feeling this is going to work out quite well. Don’t you?”  
  
Andy pulled away gently and looked into Miranda’s eyes. “It’s going to be a….hydrogen bomb.”  
  
Miranda’s smile was so sweet that Andy sighed yet again. “You’d better get this bomb into bed, Andy. I don’t think I’m feeling up to my blood flowing hither and thither yet.”  
  
Andy instantly pulled away further, just enough to assist Miranda to her bed. After she’d gotten her settled in, she asked, “Just for future reference, exactly where on your body would be hither? Or thither, for that matter?”  
  
“At some point you may form an exploratory committee for that information. Plan on it.”  
  
Andy blinked. Miranda had really just said that.  
  
Wow.  
  
“Now kiss me goodnight and let’s get some rest—does that suit you?”  
  
“Kissing you, absolutely. I’m not that tired so I might read a while, okay?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Andy leaned forward and gave Miranda a perfectly chaste though tender kiss on her lips.  “You’ve made me very happy today, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda touched Andy’s cheek, “I’ll always want to make you happy. I won’t—because I’m me—but I’ll try.”  
  
Andy smiled and waved her hand in a studied Miranda fashion. “I’m used to you, Priestly—no problem. Get some rest, sweetheart.” She kissed her again, astonished that she could kiss her at all. She took a seat at bedside as Miranda settled in for the night. Before the woman closed her eyes she looked at Andy and said…something...something so obvious with her eyes.  
  
“Never. Of course. Miranda, I won’t leave you. For coffee or the bathroom--but not--never you.”  
  
Miranda nodded and finally closed her eyes.  
  
Wow.  
  
As Miranda sank almost instantly into sleep, Andy thought, with no little consternation, about what had just happened. She drew up a little PowerPoint in her mind.  
  
1\. They had not discussed the fact they were both, presumably, straight.  
2\. They had not discussed the fact that Miranda was twice her age and had two children.  
3\. They had not discussed the fact that one day together, after four months apart, had made them leap into each others’ arms.  
4\. They had basically only discussed UNO and tomatoes, which weren’t actually all that romantic or even salient topics to the issue at hand.  
5\. Miranda was impossible and yet Andy suddenly realized she wanted her as she’d never wanted anyone or anything before—and evidently, astonishingly Miranda seemed to feel the same.  
6\. What were they thinking?  
7\. No really. What were they thinking?  
  
Andy thought—really thought for a while, and then she knew what she was thinking. She was falling in love—and was already halfway over the cliff—with Miranda Priestly.  
  
She looked up at the sky and said, “God help me.”

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Miranda hadn’t been asleep for very long before Andy realized that she could no more read in the hospital with her than she had with her mother. Puzzle books were what she liked in the hospital, when she was under tension. They weren’t mindless but there was no narrative to follow.  
  
As she was working a sudoku, Miranda suddenly woke with a cry and leapt into a sitting position. Andy threw her puzzle book down as her heart rose into her throat. She jumped up and was instantly at Miranda’s side. “Miranda? What’s wrong? Pain? Where? Chest? Abdomen? Where? What!?”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy’s alarm with astonishment, “No—I’m fine. I just realized that I forgot to take my makeup off.”  
  
Andy’s shoulders slumped and she said, with a mixture of relief and hostility, “Fuck, Miranda! Don’t _do_ that! You’re in the hospital, for God’s sake! How do you think I’m going to react if you leap up in the bed like you’ve been hit by an arrow?”  
  
“I can’t help it if my ingrained habits remind me, even in my sleep, to obey the cardinal rules of skin care—one takes off one’s make-up and moisturizes before sleeping. Even if one has to crawl into the bathroom after a night of heavy drinking to do it. Evidently, I was so busy scheming to hug you earlier that I forgot.”  
  
Although Andrea had been pleased by the hug and was more than pleased to know that Miranda had put some thought into it, she scowled and assisted Miranda into a standing position, “You’ll be the death of me, Priestly.”  
  
Miranda arched one eyebrow, “Oh no—not yet, Andrea. Just wait. I haven’t even started with you.”  
  
Andy pretended to ignore her but decided that if Miranda thought that this lower, sexier tone of voice would make up for scaring the hell out of her through sounding very hot, then she was….probably right. Damn it.  
  
They grabbed their bags and Miranda demanded that Andy remove her makeup as well. After they did so, Miranda offered Andy the use of her special night crème, which was probably compounded of unicorn horn oil, mermaid extract and Aphrodite’s hair, for all Andy knew. It was rich and fantastically creamy, smelled more heavenly than it probably cost (which was probably saying something) and was the lightest and most delightfully soothing thing she’d ever put on her face. Her skin was certainly happy to have it.  
  
After they’d finished their ablutions and added their moisturizer, they stood side by side looking into the mirror.  
  
“Andy, would you like to know one of the pains of age?”  
  
“Sure. If you want to tell me.”  
  
“Look at us. Really look at us. Without makeup, I look older. Without makeup, you look younger. That’s age.”  
  
Andy looked at their reflections and saw the truth of that statement. Without makeup, Miranda’s eyelashes were certainly paler and her face looked…slightly washed out, more lined, slightly less perfect. The gentle easing in the skin of her face was more obvious. She looked older.  
  
Without makeup, Andy realized that she did look almost like a teenager. Her eyes were bright and the lack of foundation made her look perkier, less mature. She looked younger.  
  
And as she took this in, she saw that Miranda acknowledged the fact that she’d registered this. “You see—that’s the truth of us.”  
  
Andy wouldn’t lie. “So what? It’s true. You do look older, Miranda. I do look younger. But you’re more beautiful to me without your makeup than with it.”  
  
Miranda stared down at the sink and said, “Don’t make fun of me, you silly girl—I’m twice your—“  
  
“Age, experience, wisdom, beauty, yeah, yeah, yeah. Kiss me, pretty girl.”  
  
Andy turned and kissed her gently—and then really kissed her, kissed her until Miranda parted her lips and let the younger woman kiss her fully. And Andy did, sweetly and then fervently, enjoying the taste and softness of Miranda’s mouth and feathering her hands, as she realized she’d always wanted to do, through Miranda’s gorgeous white hair. It only lasted a few moments before they both moaned.  
  
And then Andy broke the kiss, “You need to get back into bed, sweetheart. Your age is immaterial to me, but your health is not. You’re beautiful. I want you and I wouldn’t want you any younger than you are.”  
  
“I find that difficult to believe.”  
  
“Then I’ll work doubly hard to convince you.” She put her arm around Miranda and led her out of the bathroom. “And I expect you’ll enjoy it.”  
  
As they walked toward the bed, Miranda threw back her head and laughed, a wholehearted, lusty laugh. Andy smiled and asked, “What? What’s so funny?”  
  
“What the hell are we _doing_ , Andrea? One gunshot and one day later, we’re making out in a hospital bathroom.”  
  
“I think we’re either the slowest-witted women on Earth or the fastest studies ever.”  
  
“Probably both, actually. Do you mind?”  
  
“Not a bit. Do you?”  
  
“I never question myself. And I suggest you never question yourself, either.”  
  
“Gotcha. I won’t.”

* * *

After Miranda had been safely ensconced in her bed, she said, “Andrea, please remind me to tell Emily to make that scholarship anonymous or I’ll have the press hounds from hell on me and poor Wanda.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy and raised her eyebrows, “You enjoy playing at that little submissive thing, don’t you?” She mimicked perfectly, ‘Of course, Miranda.’”  
  
Andy smiled as she took her seat in the recline-a-bit, “I like doing it about exactly as much as you like hearing it.”  
  
Miranda cocked her head to one side, clearly reflecting on her behavior. “Believe it or not, I’ve actually never given it any thought but you’re right. I do—I do enjoy it when a fresh young assistant offers me her throat, figuratively speaking, of course. And they always do. Eventually.”  
  
Andy chuckled but stopped when Miranda continued, ”But I must say, now that we’ve brought up the subject, I couldn’t believe the difference when you made that offer. You weren’t offering your throat in the way all those other silly little girls did—simply because you were afraid of me. No no. Not you. You offered your throat willingly and I saw that you really wanted to give yourself to me and you wanted me to take you.” Miranda stared at Andy for a very long time. "And the look in your eyes—and you must know your eyes are so expressive. I didn’t just enjoy that. I loved it. I’d never had that. And I’ve never gotten over it.”  
  
Andy had never truly realized that _yes_ —her completely willing submission—that’s _exactly_ what she’d offered Miranda. She had wanted Miranda to accept it, had been thrilled when she had and it embarrassed her deeply to know that she’d been so transparent. She picked up her puzzle book and flipped toward the page she’d abandoned.  
  
“Get some rest, Miranda,” she said, turning her attention to her book. She knew this would anger the other woman. But probably not as much as hearing that her submissiveness had pleased her former boss and had, apparently, pleased her, too. It embarrassed her; it angered her. And it was entirely, utterly true. For both of them. _Fuck me_ , she thought— _and fuck Miranda_.  
  
From the sudden cooling in the emotional temperature of the room, Miranda knew that she must have committed a _faux pas_ , but what to do about it? Ignore it? That was her usual reaction. Go to sleep? Yes. That was it. She tried but Andy’s sighing and almost violent work on her puzzle book kept her from sleep.  
  
After one hour she sat up again. Andy jumped to attention, yet again, at the sound of Miranda’s voice. “Goddamn you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I need you—if I want you or if I want you to need me. Is this how you really are? Are you always going to punish me for needing you?”  
  
Andy was more than nonplussed by this but it didn’t keep her from lashing out, “I’ll never punish you for needing me, you….you…. _jackass_. But I’ll never be happy if you just assume I belong to you or mock the fact that I want to.”  
  
Immediately, Andy thought, _oh ffffffuck. She’d really just said that._  
  
Miranda sneered, “Dumb-ass, jackass—do I sense a theme here?”  
  
They stared at each other for a few moments. They’d both just gone way over-the-top and Andy knew they both knew it. And Andy was well aware she had to go first to fix it. “I’m sorry, Miranda. My anger was uncalled for.”  
  
“It was on my part as well. We’re clearly going to have a tempestuous relationship.”  
  
“True—but we’re also clearly going to have one.”  
  
“Let’s not belabor the obvious, Andrea.”  
  
“Andy. Call me Andy.”  
  
Miranda glared at Andy and the younger woman gave her a tremulous smile. “Call me Andy. When we’re alone—it means you’re not mad at me anymore. Please.”  
  
Miranda stared. At Andy’s smile—her face—she was so young, so lovely. In that instant, Miranda remembered that she was the older person in this arrangement and that she should presumably be the one who was more accommodating, although this went against every part of her nature. “Very well, Andy. My Andy. You are mine or want to be. And don’t argue the point that you like it. That’s also belaboring the obvious. It may embarrass you but it _is_ obvious. To both of us.”  
  
Although Andy blushed, yet again, Miranda continued, “And don’t you dare think I’m mocking you. Do you think it’s so out of the question that I might have been entranced by the fact you wanted to please me? Not because you were afraid of me or because you had to. Not just because it was a job? But because you honestly and unashamedly wanted to take care of me and make me happy? Is that so hard to believe? Look at me, Andrea.”  
  
Andy looked up and Miranda said, very quietly, “Let me be frank because we’re both adults. Although we both understand the implication that there is a slightly sexual element to your submissiveness and my enjoyment of it, that was not what I was speaking of. That part of our relationship we may or may not enjoy later. I was referring to your simple and very honest desire to please and take care of me. That is what I couldn’t forget.”  
  
Andy felt her heart go everywhere but where it should be...”But…I don’t want to be just your….dutiful little Girl Friday.”  
  
“Don’t be obtuse—I don’t want you as a servant or an assistant. I want you to be my girl every day. And I could be yours, too, if that’s acceptable.”  
  
Andy’s mind reeled out to Jupiter for a moment but she scrambled back and answered, “Of course, Miranda,” in her snarkiest tone.  
  
The only sign that Miranda had found this amusing, which she had, was in her eyes. “Good. At least we have that settled. As I said before, when you see a thing needing to be done, do it. And speaking of needs, I need some rest, because two tantrums in a day are wearing. Unless, of course, you need to argue more. I, personally, do not.”  
  
Andy stared at Miranda, who didn’t have three heads but might as well have had. “No—no more arguments here.”  
  
“Good. Then kiss me goodnight. Yet _again_ , may I remind you, you terrible, awful girl.”  
  
Andy graciously and happily kissed Miranda and stroked her cheek, then sat back in the recline-a-bit and began her puzzle.  
  
After a few minutes she heard Miranda clear her throat, then said “I never have….you know….with a woman.”  
  
Andy looked up, “Really? Me neither.”  She turned back to her puzzle book and said with studied nonchalance. “We’re both gonna have a really steep learning curve. We’re probably going to have to work really hard at it….” She looked up at Miranda, “And practice a lot. And I mean _a lot_. _A lot_ a lot.”  
  
Miranda’s cheeks bloomed as she replied, “Well. We’ll see. But we’ll certainly have to get to know each other a bit better before we indulge in such...shenanigans.”  
  
Andy gaped, “Miranda Priestly! I would never, in a thousand years, think that I could come up with a way to make you call ‘sex’ shenanigans. I’m so impressed,” she giggled suddenly, “with myself!”  
  
“You are impossible and I don’t know what I’ll ever be able to do with you.”  
  
Andy smiled, thought for a few moments and responded, “You know exactly what you’ll do with me. In fact, now that I really think about it, from the first moment we met, we were going to end up in bed. When you interviewed me, you condescended to me, you disdained me, you dismissed me—so why did you hire me?”  
  
Miranda didn’t answer.  
           
“And when you gave me that exquisitely painful cerulean sweater lecture, you wanted to teach me something—but it wasn’t just about fashion, was it? You wanted me on your leash—and I stepped right into my collar. And when I started wearing Chanel and Dior, don’t think, now that I look back on it, that I didn’t know your eyes devoured me every time I left you.”  
  
“If I was that obvious, why even mention it?”  
  
“Because I think it may mean that I’m important to you—and have been for some time.”  
  
“If you don’t know that, then—“  
  
“I’m only just beginning to know it, Miranda—you’re not so easy to read and you know that. Let’s give it a rest. Go to sleep, my love.”  
  
A few moments passed.  
  
“Am I?”  
  
“What, Miranda?”  
  
“Am I your love? You said you didn’t even know how to like me.”  
  
Andy almost smiled. Miranda, despite her concrete personal walls, was actually so fragile. “Like doesn’t enter into our equation. I truly don’t think you really ‘like’ me yet either. Of course you’re my love. I won’t say words we’re not ready for yet but you are, in a way I will never be able to express, incredibly dear to me. Even before we met again, if I’d really focused on the one person I’d most want to please, impress, make proud of me, no one would exist but you. There’d only be you.”  
  
Miranda nodded and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she said, “The feeling’s mutual.”  
  
As they rested in their bed and recline-a-bit, they both laughed at the same time.  
  
“We’re going to fucking kill each other!”  
  
Miranda answered. “No question about it.”  
  
Andy turned out the light but not before kissing Miranda one more time. But as she kissed her, Andy said, “I will never leave you unless you push me away.”  
  
“Then we’re stuck together, I suppose.”  
  
“Seems so—sleep tight—I’ll be here, love.”  
  
“You are—Andy. You are my love.”  
  
“Don’t belabor the obvious, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda rolled her eyes at this in the darkness, but once they’d settled down, they were both so exhausted that they fell asleep in five minutes.

* * *

When they awoke, after the 4AM vitals check, they looked into each others’ eyes and caressed each others’ hands as they had the morning before.  
  
Quite casually, Miranda began to sing in such a quiet, almost insanely beautiful voice that it pierced Andy right through the heart, “What a difference a day makes/Twenty-four little hours./ Brought the sun and the flowers. Where there used to be rain/ My yesterday was blue, dear/Today I'm part of you, dear/My lonely nights are through, dear/Since you said you were mine…”  
  
Miranda took her hand from Andy’s and waved it—“Anyway. You get the idea.”  
  
“Miranda! You can sing!”  
  
“Of course I can—I’m full of surprises.”  
  
“Miranda?”  
  
“Andrea?”  
  
“I already knew that. I was really surprised by how incredibly soft your lips are. But let’s get some more rest.”  
  
“Excellent idea, Andrea.”  
  
“We’re alone. It’s Andy.”  
  
“Andy it is. My Andy.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
They both grinned as they fell back to sleep.

* * *

  
6:30AM  
  
Andy approached Wanda’s supervisor, Michelle Davis, and asked if she could speak to Wanda for, perhaps, 30 minutes around the beginning of her shift.  
  
Michelle was immediately protective, which Andy appreciated. “About what? Do you believe she’s done something wrong? If so, I need to know before you speak to her or I need to speak to her myself.”  
  
Andy backpedaled immediately, “No, nothing like that. It’s about a scholarship for her son, Juan Carlo.”  
  
“Someone wants to help Juan Carlo?”  
  
“Miranda wants to help Juan Carlo, to pay for a scholarship to one of the best schools in the city, if not in the country.”  
  
Michelle’s eyes narrowed, “Why? Why on Earth would she want to help them? By all accounts, she’s a bitch on wheels.”  
  
Michelle thought she had Andy’s number. The girl had obviously slept in her clothes, was very pretty, yet not all that impressive, rumpled and sleepy as she was. Yet another young go-to-minion of a powerful person, another of a coterie of such girls and boys she’d seen in Manhattan for years.  
  
She instantly knew she hadn’t understood quite as well as she’d thought when Andy’s eyes tightened. “You will never call Miranda Priestly a bitch in my presence again. Not only is it unprofessional, you don’t know her and I don’t tolerate disrespect toward her. And just a word to the wise, if she knew you had treated me less than professionally, you cannot even imagine what would happen to you. That being said, if I need to speak to your supervisor in order to have a conversation with Wanda about a wonderful opportunity for her son, just give me the name and I will. And, of course, all of what I’ve just said is confidential. If this hits the press, we’ll know where to come to file a grievance.”  
  
Michelle swallowed her spit. “You can speak to Wanda at 9AM. I’ll ensure it.”  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Davis.”

* * *

9AM  
  
It was too early to call. Of course it was. Serena knew it was. But fuck it. She’d call. And be happy or….reap the whirlwind. Whatever. Emily could deal with her caprice, surely.  
  
As she called, she prepared herself for anything.  
  
Even a groggy voice. “Hello?”  
  
“Emily—I’m sorry to call you so early but I wanted to know if you would join me for tea and a movie today—maybe 3:30—at my home, no?”  
  
There was an extended pause, in which Serena’s heart dropped, and then Emily said “Yes, of course—give me your address.”  
  
As she supplied it, she could hear Emily giving her attention to the information. “Got it—I’ll be there. Ta, luv.”  
  
Aw. Emily was either sleepy enough or opening up enough to use slang. Serena beamed, though Emily couldn’t see it. “I cannot wait to see you, English.”  
  
Emily was still groggy but she rose to the bait, “Nor I you, Brazil.”  
  
Serena said with some feeling, “You don’t know.”  
  
“You can’t know, Serena. We’ll leave it at that. Cheers!”  


* * *

9AM  
  
Wanda opened the door to an empty office and sat across from Andy, looking slightly pale and ready for almost anything. “Ms. Andy, what have I done?”  
  
“Wanda? You haven’t done a thing.”  
  
“But when Ms. Michelle said you must see me, very importantly, what could I think? I must have offended Ms. Miranda.”  
  
Andy smiled and took a sip of her awful hospital coffee, “I’m so sorry. Would you like some coffee, Wanda?”  
  
“No, Ms. Andy, I’m too frightened to drink.”  
  
Andy smiled again, a tender smile. “No, Wanda, don’t be afraid. You’ve done nothing wrong. Do you remember that you told Miranda about your Juan Carlo, about how smart he is—and what you wished for him?”  
  
“Oh si. Si.”  
  
“Do you know the Dalton School? That’s where her twins go.”  
  
“Of course. Very good and so impressive but so very expensive.”  
  
“Wanda, Miranda has always wanted to give a scholarship to that school and she thinks perhaps it might be good for Juan Carlo to go there on that scholarship.”  
  
Wanda rattled off such an excited speech in Spanish that Andy couldn’t follow it at all. She asked, “Does this mean you’re happy, Wanda?”  
  
“Is this true? Does she mean it?”  
  
“Yes. The scholarship would take him from now through high school.”  
  
Wanda crossed herself and began to cry, which Andy hadn’t anticipated.  
       
“Why would God bless me so?”  
  
Andy thought for a moment and said, “Because you deserve it and Miranda saw it.”  
  
“But what can I do to deserve it? That is so much money. I don’t know what to say.”  
  
Andy smiled again, trying to reassure this sweet woman, and said, “I must ask you a few important things.”  
  
“Si. What, Ms. Andy?”  
  
“Does Juan Carlo do anything—like sports or community activities where you live?”  
  
“Of course! He does the football, what you call soccer, and he plays on a team. And he tutors little children in math two days a week after school at the Boys and Girls Club.”  
  
Andy beamed and lied as she never had before. This was going to be her, totally her, but she’d pass it off as Miranda. “Perfect! Wanda, Miranda wants to make sure your Juan Carlo stays a part of his neighborhood, you see? She wants him to be a part of where he grows up.”  
  
“Oh si, she is very wise. Who could think it? It would hurt my Juan Carlo to be somewhere he—“  
  
“Wanda—that’s another thing. The scholarship pays for transportation. But it also pays for clothes, because I know you must understand that the children who go to Dalton are usually wealthy. She wants him to feel like the rest of the children at the school. The scholarship will pay for school clothes but she very specifically wanted to say that it might be good for him to take those school clothes off and change into what you can personally afford for him after he gets home and before he plays football or tutors. It’s not to make you or him feel ashamed. She wants to help but doesn’t want to take him out of his community. You know how children are. It’s not good to live two lives but to suddenly go to a new school and wear new and more expensive clothes—that might make his friends jealous or angry. It might not be good. Do you think that’s right?”  
  
“Si—perhaps so. I will ask him. He is a very smart boy.”  
  
“Cool—if he thinks his friends will be alright, Miranda will be fine with whatever he decides. But keep that in mind and remember—his participation in whatever community activities in your neighborhood he enjoys are a condition of his scholarship.”  
  
Wanda was openly crying now, “How can I thank her—how can I—“  
  
“Wanda? Just say thank you. That’s all. She’d be embarrassed by anything more.”  
  
“Ah. She is modest, no?”  
  
Andy thought, for a fleeting second that, no, that was the last thing Miranda was.  
  
“She is. Say thank you and sort of ignore it. She’ll arrange for her assistant to get the paperwork and stuff together, okay?”  
  
“I will. But I could never imagine God could grace my family in this way. He is mysterious, no?”  
  
“He is, Wanda. More mysterious than I ever imagined.”  
  
“We must wait on His plans—and be grateful.”  
  
“I know I am. And Wanda?”  
  
“Si?”  
  
“She’s going to want to meet him.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You know what all the nurses have been saying about Miranda?”  
  
“That dirt? That trash? Si.”  
  
“You probably know that I worked for her for nearly a year.”  
  
“Si.”  
  
"When I met her, I didn’t know or really understand who she was. She’s very wealthy but what she _is_ is even more than that, Wanda. She's incredibly influential. You saw what I said on TV?”  
  
“Si.”  
  
“Her opinion does influence billions and billions of dollars globally, every year. She is probably the most influential woman you will ever meet. And although, as you saw, she can be very sweet, she truly is scarier than you could ever imagine. Ever. And I’m very serious. She is like nothing you’ve ever seen. When you bring Juan Carlo to meet her—and I’m sure it will be at her office at Elias Clark, prepare to be frightened. She’s going to frighten him for a reason, I think.”  
  
Wanda’s eyes twinkled. “Ah. Si. The fear of God—that’s what she wants to give my boy?”  
  
Andy nodded vigorously, “The fear of God. Believe me. No one can do it like her.”  
  
Wanda shrugged and winked, “It cannot hurt him. We all need it.”  
  
They laughed and continued their conversation.

* * *

As Andy walked into the room after her talk with Wanda, Miranda gave her a glance.  
  
“Slide on ice, sweetheart.”  
  
“She’s happy?”  
  
“Over the moon.”  
  
“Fine. Good. She won’t make a scene with me, will she?”  
  
“Nope—I told her not to. You know what was sweet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“She asked me, just to make sure, that you wouldn’t be depriving yourself or your family with this gift.”  
  
Miranda rolled her eyes, “You couldn’t deprive me with a stick—but, yes, that was sweet.”  
  
Andy smirked, “And I think you’re very sweet to do it.”  
  
Miranda’s blue eyes snapped, “Don’t be appreciative. You know that makes me testy.”  
  
“Oh right---like what doesn’t?”  
  
“Not much, admittedly, but smart aleck comments aren’t on that short list.”  
  
“Ah….that’s the Miranda I know.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Sweet talker.”  
  
“Is there a fly in the room? I’m sure something is buzzing. I can’t quite hear it.”  
  
“You’re just angry because I’m leaving to take a shower.”  
  
“But you’re leaving me all the same. You always do.”  
  
“Only for a few hours. Wanda will get you cleaned up and then John and the girls will keep you busy soon enough.”  
  
Miranda looked deeply, deeply peeved, “They won’t be you. And you won’t stay with me tonight and I won’t be—“  
  
Andy interrupted, “Miranda Priestly.”  
  
Miranda scowled but didn’t look at Andy. “What?”  
  
“I’ll come back to visit this afternoon but I have to stay home tonight—Monday’s my early day. But do you think I won’t be miserable sleeping without you tonight? I want to. I wish I could.”  
  
Andy watched Miranda swallow and then she said “I don’t….understand myself right now. At all. You come here and everything changes and I’m stupid and lost and…”  
  
Andy took Miranda’s hand, “Don’t be ridiculous—you’re not stupid or lost. You’re happy and all at sea on your oil rig, just because somebody wants you. And you want her. Don’t make it such a big deal, although we both know it’s a very, very big deal. For both of us. And, as far as sleeping and waking together? In time, I bet we can find a way to work that out.”  
  
Miranda sniffed and offered, quietly, “If you’re going to be reasonable, I may have to kill you.”  
  
Andy looked into Miranda’s eyes and said, very sweetly, “I’m nowhere near reasonable right now. And if it weren’t too early to say it, I would say something.”  
  
Miranda smiled an honest, open smile. “I would say it, too. And I’d mean it.”  
  
“Well then, aren’t we lucky. I’ll be back this afternoon—maybe you could plan a few arguments we could have—think about it.”  
  
“I can’t wait to see you again, my—“  
  
“Love. I’m your love, aren’t I?”  
  
“Get out of here—but kiss me first.”  
  
Andy kissed her quickly, chastely.  
  
“I like longer kisses better, Andrea.”  
  
“Andy is my name when we’re alone. And I like longer kisses, too. But we’re in a semi-public setting.”  
  
Miranda sighed. “Leave that puzzle book with me, damn you.”  
  
“Tyrant! Despot! Taskmaster!”  
  
“Go away—if you’re going to be like that.”  
  
“I’ll be back….”  
  
“Said the Terminator…”  
  
“Miranda! You _have_ seen some movies.”  
  
“Go away, you wretch!”  
  
Andy smirked as she left.  
  
As she left, both of them realized they were stupid—and both of them knew they were in love.

* * *

3PM  
  
What could she wear?  
  
What?  
  
Emily mulled over the question endlessly. She wanted to impress—but not too much. It would be ridiculous to over-dress for a semi-casual date. Was it even a date? Serena was certainly going full-press, so to speak, but was this a date? She’d just have to see.  
  
She left her make-up simple. But what to wear?  
  
The jeans she wore were Escada. Which were entirely and insanely expensive and which she’d entirely ripped out of The Closet. She decided on a simple Chanel blouse.  
  
When she arrived at Serena’s apartment, she was stunned to see the woman wearing Levis and a simple and a probably cheap “Made in Brazil” sweatshirt. She looked like a goddess.  
  
Emily had brought flowers, which Serena caressed and took care of immediately, placing them in a vase. “You are too kind, my dearest.”  
  
Emily took in the fragrant smell of tea—her favorite Lady Grey tea. How did this woman know?  
  
“You made me tea?“  
  
“Of course, just for you. Have a seat.”  
  
Serena’s apartment was like her home country—beautiful yet full and lovely. The furnishings were lush and colorful. There was one rounded room that was full of light and window seats and only held a cello and music stand.  
  
Serena placed a teapot on a table for Emily and a plate that held only three tiny petit fours and three cucumber sandwiches cut into hearts.  
  
Emily looked up at her and Serena said “Tea—for my English. I will play for you.”  
  
As Serena took her place at her cello, Emily knew immediately, having musicians in her family, that this was a true musician. The woman put on her half glasses and began to play.  
  
Bach. Bach’s Arioso.  
  
She sighed, deeply, and took a bite of a cucumber sandwich.

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.
> 
> A/N: The scenes in this chapter between the four women are no longer in temporal sync and I know that. (We start at about 4PM with Serena/Emily but we’re still at about 1100AM with Miranda/Andy.) I’ll put them back on the same clock soon, since I hate temporal anomalies, too! In my Alt-Universe, Miranda’s been married only twice Lyrics and song “Do You Really Want Me,” by Salt n Pepa, produced by Hurby Azor.

* * *

Only minutes after Andy had left, Miranda found herself beginning to fret. Fret in a way she had never done about another person, excepting her children.  She wanted Andy back with her; she wanted a visit from her children.  
  
She worked on a puzzle until she heard a quiet knock on the door.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Wanda opened the door and asked, softly, “Ms. Miranda, could you have a bath now? Or I could help you in the shower."  
  
As Wanda entered the room, Miranda remembered Andy’s manners. “Do you think you might help me into the shower, Wanda?”  
  
“Ah. _Si. Si_. It would be good for you.” She guided Miranda to a seat on the closed toilet.  
  
“Sit here, please. I will get the bandages to protect your surgeries. Very quick. Just wait.”  
  
“Just so, Wanda. Thank you.”  
  
When Wanda returned, she gently undressed her and placed temporary plastic bandages over Miranda’s scars, both front and back. She started the shower, helped her patient into it and handed her a washcloth and a bar of soap.  
  
“There. Ms. Miranda, wash yourself and tell me if you need help—if you feel weak. Do not be….embarrassed, right? I am here. I will not let you fall. Not on my life.”  
  
Miranda answered as she shampooed her hair, “I know you wouldn’t. You’re too good.”  
  
Tears pricked Wanda’s eyes. “Ms. Miranda. I hope so. I hope I deserve your blessing and I—“  
  
Wanda heard an suddenly exasperated, quiet voice from the other woman, “Wanda, you’re welcome. But I’m sure Andrea told you not to thank me too much. I want to help Juan Carlo but I don’t want to hear about it.”  
  
Silence. Then, she heard Wanda say as she rinsed her hair,  “Ah, _si_. She said so, _si_.”  
  
As Miranda turned off the water and pulled the curtain back, Wanda immediately covered her with a towel and slightly averted her eyes. “Your Ms. Andy was very specific.”  
  
“Andrea knows me as well as anyone, Wanda. Probably better, actually.”  
  
“As you say, Ms. Miranda. Ms. Andy told me your children will visit soon?”  
  
Miranda smiled, “Yes—with their father.”  She glared at Wanda to explain, “my ex-husband.”  
  
“Is good—to see your children, no?”  
  
Miranda considered the question for a few moments. “Yes. I really can’t wait, Wanda.”  
  
Wanda smiled and helped her dress. “Do you need anything else, Ms. Miranda? Some water, ginger-ale?”  
  
“If you wouldn’t mind, Wanda, I’d like some water and that puzzle book and my glasses, please.”  
  
As Wanda quickly provided them, Miranda realized the other woman had no idea how very goggle-eyed any of her employees would have been to hear that request framed so politely. She shrugged. Evidently, it didn’t exactly hurt to be polite. Occasionally.  
  
After Wanda had left her sitting in the recline-a-bit, Miranda found that she was…smiling. She could actually be polite and was, actually, an expectant mother. Who knew? Andrea would have, she suspected. Damn her….

* * *

The sudden jostling of the subway making a stop jolted Andy awake, having fallen asleep almost immediately as she rode home despite the fact Scotty’s cooler didn’t exactly make the softest pillow. Sleeping at a hospital was not only uncomfortable, she never really slept soundly, knowing she might be needed. She looked around her and grinned. As grungy and unkempt as she knew she looked right now or as beautiful as she’d ever felt, you could always trust New York to produce someone dirtier or prettier and, usually, even in the same subway car. In that way, the city was one of the greatest of equalizers. In another way, of course, she thought ruefully, it also meant something else—to stand out here meant you had to really, really stand out. She’d have to talk to Miranda about it.  
  
She felt her breathing tighten. Miranda. It was now not only possible to kiss Miranda, it was actually possible to talk to her and ask advice from her and argue with her, not just do errands for her. And who better to talk to about a career in journalism in New York? Andy grinned again. No one. And no one better to kiss, either. She looked down at her bag, New Yorker she now was, that she’d safely ensconced between her hip and the cooler and the strap of which was firmly wrapped around her wrist. She wanted to whip out her cell phone. Suddenly, she just wanted to tell someone—tell someone what had happened—tell someone she thought she was suddenly and crushingly in love. Talking to someone else would make it seem…real, when it still seemed like a dream.  
  
Lily was out. Lily was still her friend, but a friend who could be a bit too judgmental and stay that way. When Nate had moved to Boston and it’d become virtually immediately apparent their relationship was over, Lily had blamed the split primarily on Andy and on the changes she’d undergone during her tenure at Runway. The fact that Nate had decided to move to Boston, that Nate had decided not to stay geographically close enough to even work on their relationship, didn’t seem to matter. Andy realized, in talking to Lily, who had dated but never seriously for very long, that the woman just didn’t understand that two people, and especially two young people at the beginnings of their careers and lives as adults, could just grow apart. They remained friends, but emotionally distant friends. Not the person to talk to about something just starting.  
  
She had other friends in New York but Doug was her only other obvious choice. Not only had he known her forever and not only did he never, ever repeat a thing you said to him privately, he gave you honest advice. Or an honest ration of ass-kicking if you needed it, which she respected. He was the only person Andy had told about her one-nighter with Christian Thompson.  Doug had told her that he was as disappointed in her as she should be with herself and that Nate hadn’t deserved such a betrayal. When Andy had tried to defend herself, Doug had quickly asked her whether she thought, in a thousand years, Nate would have ever done that to her.  
  
Well. Okay. No.  
  
She still remembered what Doug had said next, as if it were yesterday. “So. You were wrong. You should be ashamed of yourself, Andrea. Ashamed, but don’t get down on yourself—it’s over. You can only do better from here. And just in case you’re thinking about developing a case of wild, confessional guilt, I’ll tell you something. No. You should never tell Nate. It would only hurt him, and needlessly, now that it’s over.”  
  
He’d covered her hand with his, “And, Andy, I know the fact you would consider such a thing, much less follow through with it, meant your relationship was already in serious trouble. Blame yourself for your own actions but don’t blame yourself completely for the failure of the relationship. It takes two.”  
  
He patted her hand and took a healthy swig of his drink. “No, don’t do it again. No, I’ll never tell a soul. And, yes, I still love you.”  
  
So. Doug it was.  
  
As soon as she’d reached her stop and had climbed out of the underworld into the street, she dialed Doug’s number and got the standard answer, “Doug’s Pizza.”  
  
She used the code they always used for needing an intensely important conversation. “You can’t see it because it’s daytime—but there’s a fairly urgent Bat Signal in the sky.”  
  
Tension leapt into Doug’s voice, “Jesus! Are you okay? Where are you?”  
  
“I’m okay—I mean physically, just fine. And I’m on my way home. But I need to talk to you if you have the time. I’ll live if you don’t.”  
  
“Obviously not, if you’re using the Bat Signal.”  
  
“I’ve only had the Earth’s crust break open under my feet—in a really good but scarily unexpected way. Really good but really scary.”  
  
“Fuck me. I’m there. Need lunch?”  
  
“Yes please—and I’ll pay if you front it.”  
  
“Please! Is this worth the price of a pizza?”  
  
Andy laughed, “Actually, every pizza we’ve ever eaten together or apart.”  
  
“One hour, Batman—I mean Batgirl.”  
  
“Thanks, Robin.” As she disconnected, she smiled at absolutely nothing. Friends. Had to love ‘em.  
  
Then she called Scotty Peace. Just because she couldn’t sleep with Miranda tonight didn’t mean they weren’t having another date.

* * *

As Serena finished her second cello piece, Emily finished her tea, having watched the woman with a mixture of awe and utter bewilderment. Why would this woman take the time for her? Why would anyone like her even—  
  
At this very moment, Serena put down her bow and asked, “Did you enjoy your tea?”  
  
Something odd—but not tears surely, made Emily’s eyes water. “It was perfect, Serena. The tea was beautiful but you played more beautifully.”  
  
The taller woman smiled as she stood, “I actually went to university on a music scholarship. My parents were devastated that I did not stay to play in Brazil. I was recruited, by many companies in many countries, actually.”  
  
“Then why—“  
  
“I love music for music. I didn’t want to make it my work. I have other skills, so I can leave music my dearest love, not something I must visit only because I need a paycheck. Other people feel differently and I thank God and think good for them. But that’s how I feel. I want to be myself and not let my more obvious talents dictate the course of my life.”  
  
Serena stood in front of Emily in her bare feet, jeans and sweatshirt. “I’m going to put on running shoes—you call them trainers, do you not? Will it embarrass you to be seen with me that way?”  
  
Before Emily could answer, Serena added gently, “I think I need to explain something else. Please don’t take this as arrogance, Emily, but I stop traffic no matter what I wear. I’m quite aware that I am what people consider extraordinarily beautiful. Living in this body all of my life, I cannot help but know this.”  
  
She shrugged, “But I also know I did nothing to deserve it. I was born this way. These are my genes and they are a gift and I’m grateful but I try not to think about how I look outside of work. I never want to be just a thing to look at. I want to be a person. I adore fashion as much as you do and accentuate when I wish but I know that I truly need no accentuation. So why be uncomfortable when I can be comfortable?”  
  
Serena smiled down at Emily, “Unless of course you want me to dress up for you. Because, of course, I would. For you.”  
  
Emily was completely confounded. Serena was evidently a superhero using her powers and immense beauty for good. That possibility had never occurred to her. She could think of no answer except, “No. Of course not. You look wonderful—perfect.” Something very serious occurred to Emily at this moment. “I’m so…very shallow, you know…in so many ways. Compared to you, I mean.”  
  
Serena smiled again, leaned down and kissed Emily gently on the cheek. “You are only beginning to know yourself, Emily. I’ve seen that since the moment I met you. You have more depth than you know. And you look delicious today, by the way, my English rose.”  
  
Before Serena could pull away, Emily pulled her back and kissed her on the lips. As Serena stood, she chuckled sweetly, “My, my. You English aren’t as entirely phlegmatic as your reputation suggests, are you?”  
  
Emily sputtered indignantly, “Who calls the English phlegmatic?”  
  
Serena looked deeply charmed. “Only everyone, I believe. But you forget that I have a Romantic language and Romantic blood. We are a very different people.”  She caressed Emily’s cheek, “No worries, my beautiful. I like you cool—it makes what heat you show me all the more arresting. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Emily found herself so aroused by this that she covered her eyes with her hands.  What the hell was happening to her?

* * *

Andy’s hair was still wet from her shower when she let Doug into her apartment. They didn’t have to say a word—they were such long-term friends that they didn’t stand on ceremony. Doug pulled down the plates and glasses from Andy’s cabinets and piled pizza onto two plates and poured Sprite into some glasses and brought the pizza box in for reinforcement. As they took their places on Andy’s couch, since she had no actually dining room, Doug took a bite of pizza and said, “Well? Let’s hear it.”  
  
Andy took a bite and chewed it longer than she actually needed to, then said, “Doug, I think I’m in love.”  
  
Doug’s eyes bugged out of his head but he was hungry enough to take another bite and swallow before he said, “With whom? You’re not even dating anybody, And.”  
  
“I am now. I’m dating Miranda Priestly.”  
  
Doug did a double then a treble take, and then he did the best old school Salt-n-Pepa cover she’d ever heard, complete with the head-fake, “ _HOLD UP, WAIT-A-MINUTE_.”  
  
Then they both repeated the lines they always had from years of enjoying the same song:  
  
_“Ain't nothin' but tutti-fruity_ _  
_Get on the floor if ya got that booty”__  
  
Andy smiled and then she became, instantly, more serious.  
  
“I know. I know. It was like this….”  
  
She hesitated for one moment. Even before he’d arrived at her apartment, Andy had made her run through of what would be too personal to tell him. Things that were too precious to her. Nothing about endearments, nothing about their expressions of their feelings. Yes to a kiss or two or five and yes to the whole ‘date thing.’  
  
As she continued and told him the expurgated story, he thoughtfully attempted to eat his pizza without choking on it. His friend was serious. What could he say?  
  
“Andy—you do know this is the fashion diva of the entire world. The most important fashion person on Planet Earth?”  
  
“You think I don’t know that? And far better than even you do at this point?”  
  
“So why would she—“  
  
Andy’s eyes narrowed, “You mean, why would someone like Miranda Priestly care about me?”  
  
Doug settled himself into the couch, shamed by his assumptions and realizing he didn’t know one thing about what Miranda would do or feel. He looked into Andy’s eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt because someone needs you because she’s in a bad situation.”  
  
Andy nodded. “It’s not like that, Doug. It’s lovely.”  
  
“Does she feel the same?”  
  
Andy took a sip of her Sprite and said, “I think so.”  
  
As if in answer, Andy’s cell made a hellish squawk. Andy looked at the screen and answered, “Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“My children aren’t here yet; you aren’t here. I hate everything.”  
  
“I know. Did Wanda help you with a bath?”  
  
“She helped me with a shower, thank you.”  
  
“That’s great—that’s real progress.”  
  
“Thank you. But it doesn’t answer my question.”  
  
“Did you ask one?”  
  
“I’m alone.”  
  
“Not for long, sweetheart. Your family will be there soon and I’m bringing you more Scotty food for dinner.”  
  
There was a long pause.  “Then you have a pass—who’s there with you? I can feel you’re not alone.”  
  
Andy had almost forgotten Miranda was scary that way. “My best friend Doug.”  
  
“Well, best regards—but is he safe? For us, I mean? And you’re coming later, no?”  
  
“He’s a vault. My best pal. And of course I’m coming to see you. Always, Miranda.”  
  
“I can’t wait to see you. Don’t repeat that. It’s only for us.”  
  
“So it is. But it’s entirely mutual. See you soon.”  
  
As she clapped her phone shut, she said to Doug, “See?”  
  
Doug grabbed another piece of pizza and replied, “Day-umm. You’re dating Miranda effin’ Priestly”  
  
Andy felt like giggling but only smiled tenderly. “I am. Isn’t that great?”  
  
Doug had never seen this look on his friend’s face and they’d known each other since high school. “Girl, I think you’re in love.”  
  
“I think I am, too.”  
  
“You’re sure it’s mutual?”  
  
Andy thought over the past 24 hours and it was obvious. “Absolutely, Doug. I can’t tell you why—because it’s very private but absolutely.”  
  
Doug brought up his last two possible objections, “You’re straight, Andy, and she’s twice your age.”  
  
“And your point is? You’d sleep with her in two seconds flat and you’re gay.”  
  
Doug blushed because it was entirely too true and lifted his glass of Sprite. “To love, then.”  
  
“To love.”  
  
They tapped their glasses of Sprite.  
  
Doug shook his head as he grabbed another piece of pizza. “I’m so fucking impressed. And jealous.”  
  
Andy smiled, “Well, if things go well, you’ll be getting to know her.”  
  
He sighed, “I just knew there was a gay heaven.”

* * *

“So what film are we going to see, Serena?”  
  
“We’re going to a Kieślowski retrospective—you know " _Trois Couleurs: Rouge_? You speak French, no?”  
  
Emily glared at her. “ _Bien sur_ , Serena. He’s my favorite director and I love that film.”  
  
“Ah—see? You’re not so shallow after all, are you? Do you mind seeing it again?”  
  
“No. It’s my favorite film ever.”  
  
“Mine as well. I suppose we’re fated….to at least eat popcorn together.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
As they left Emily’s apartment, she didn’t mind so much that this goddess chose to hold her hand as they strolled along. Who cared? Right? Who cared?  
  
No one evidently. As they walked toward the theater Emily realized that a tall glamazon with a comparatively pretty person in tow didn’t attract much more attention than anyone else in New York.  
  
Serena insisted on buying the tickets and the refreshments. She also insisted on buying jumbo drinks and a large popcorn with extra butter.  
  
As Emily nearly had a fit beside her, Serena said, “We could be hit by a car tomorrow—you already have been—that was the first of my little anxieties about you. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”  
  
They munched on the popcorn for a few moments into the movie and then Serena took Emily’s hand. They continued eating and watching the movie until the very end. And then for a few moments after the credits were running, Serena leaned into Emily’s ear and said, “I want you, my darling. It won’t be tonight, but God or life or Fate has placed us together, do you not think so?”  
  
Emily could only manage a strangled, “Yes.”  
  
They watched the rest of the credits, with Emily wanting to explode.  And then Serena kissed her, quite tenderly, a buttery, popcorn-flavored kiss. And as Emily relaxed into the bliss of Serena’s lips, she found she didn’t even care who saw them.

* * *

  
4PM  
What was life, Miranda thought, but a series of disappointing postponements?  Waiting for Andrea, waiting for her children. Waiting for perfection at Runway.  
  
Was this true? It seemed true. Was she wrong?  
  
She worked her puzzle with ferocity and knew she hoped, to her embarrassment, that someone she loved would come to see her soon. Her! She loved her privacy. Guarded it like a pit-bull. And yet only her girls would help. They would help but she was nearly ashamed to admit to herself only Andrea would really help.  She wanted her Andy. And no one else could help.  
  
How could this happen? To her? She shook her head. And now that it had, how could it not happen? She felt something turning in her heart. She had made the exception with her children, which she assumed was entirely natural. But Andrea? How could she reconcile this with her vision of herself? She could be a mother to her children. But to allow another person so deeply into her life. How? She took a deep breath, realizing that she did not care. She would submit. Submit completely to this feeling. And, with this decision, she felt a deep, calming and blissful peace. So there, she thought to herself, filling in the last two numbers in her Sudoku puzzle.  
  
So there.

* * *

Dr. Susan Allen knocked and entered. “Ms. Priestly, may I examine you?”  The doctor had quickly realized asking politely was the golden ticket.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
As Dr. Allen assessed Miranda’s wounds, then her thoracic capacity, she also evaluated her pain. “Your wounds are healing well and you sound good, Ms. Priestly. I think you can go home tomorrow.”  
  
“Excellent—when can I get back to work?”  
  
“Not until next week.”  
  
“That’s not acceptable.”  
  
Dr. Allen was a Texan, a true and earthy Texan, and as such was congenial with high-powered patients but no pushover. “I’m the doctor, Ms. Priestly. You’re not. I wouldn’t think of trying to edit a magazine because that’s not my field of expertise. Medicine is. So don’t tell me what’s acceptable. That’s the status of your condition.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“But nothing, Ms. Priestly. You can tell me about Zac Posen’s line this season. Feel free. But you have no right to tell me what I know is good practice for my patient—and you’re my patient.”  
  
Miranda counted to ten, realizing she’d met one of the incredibly few people who could and would fight her with good reason. “Very well. I can go home tomorrow and work from there, can I not?”  
  
“After two days of continued bed rest, certainly. That means Wednesday at the very earliest.”  
  
“My schedule cannot possibly—“  
  
“What? Include its editor being shot? Excuse my language but tough shit. Let it be a growth experience for them. And I must say, if your magazine can’t do without you for two days, you’re not much of a manager.”  
  
Whoa, Nelly!!  Dr. Allen had rarely seen someone’s blood pressure rise right in front of her, but this was one of those times. Miranda was nearly apoplectic. Before the woman could explode, Dr. Allen said, “Let’s call it like it is. You’re angry because I’m right. But let me correct myself. I don’t think you’re a bad manager. I think you’re probably such a good manager that your magazine can hold on without you for a couple of days. You’re just a perfectionist and don’t want to let go of the reins.”  
  
Miranda glared at her and Dr. Allen saw why everyone was so afraid of her. Jesus, with that look, the woman should be able to turn you into stone.  She watched Miranda forcing herself to relax, forcing herself not to care, until she finally said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Fine.”  
  
“Good. One other suggestion. I think you need someone to help you at home for a couple of days, not to mention keep an eye on you. I would suggest a nurse’s assistant.” Her eyes sparkled, “Something about you tells me you might not comply with my instructions.”  
  
Miranda snorted, “Please! Compliance is my middle name.”  
  
“And I’m the Queen of Arabia. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Ms. Priestly.”  
  
Miranda bowed her head. “Very well. I’ll do as you say….damn you.”  
  
“Now, that’s the Miranda Priestly I’ve heard about. Good for you! Being feisty and bitchy will have you on your feet and ready to go to work in no time. Meaning next week. Do you hear me? Get someone to take care of you properly or you’ll leave this hospital AMA.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“I knew you would. You have a reputation for intelligence.”  
  
Miranda glared at her again, “If you don’t watch yourself, Dr. Allen, I’ll either fire you or like you.”  
  
The doctor smiled, “God help me in either case.”  
  
“Exactly. Get out of here. I need to call my next of kin.”  
  
Before the doctor could leave, Miranda said, “Dr. Allen?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Dr. Allen winked at her and said, “Wow. I’m going to go buy me a lottery ticket. Obviously, I’m on a roll.”  
  
“Out!”  
  
Dr. Allen snickered as she left and Miranda called John, who was already on his way with their children.  
  
Miranda rang for the nurses’ desk.  
  
There was a delay and a squawk, “Yes? How can we help you?”  
  
“May I see Wanda, please.”  
  
“We’ll let her know.”  
  
It took a few minutes before Wanda appeared in Miranda’s room. “Ms. Miranda—do you need something?”  
  
“I believe you said something about being off for the next three days.”  
  
“Si, Ms. Miranda. I work 12 hour shifts, like the nurses, four days on and three days off.”  
  
“I know this will make a long two weeks for you but how would you like to work for me for me until Wednesday? I’m going home tomorrow and Dr. Allen said I need help, although of course, it’s ridiculous.”  
  
Wanda hesitated for a few moments, unsure what to say.  
  
“What do they pay you hourly, Wanda?”  
  
Wanda told her and, as Andy had predicted, Miranda was scandalized.  
  
“I’ll pay you ten times that if you will help me.”  
  
“Ten times? Oh no, Ms. Miranda. I am not worth so much. And the taxes? No, but thank you.”  
  
“You are worth it to me, Wanda. As far as the taxes are concerned, pay them and I’ll pay you back in cash. And we may as well get to know each other because you and your family will be part of my life for years. Don’t you think?”  
  
Wanda relaxed a bit and then asked, yet again, “Why would God bless me so?”  
  
“There’s an easy answer. You’re worth it. And I’m sure Andrea told you that you'll bring Juan Carlo to me for a visit soon.”  
  
Wanda smiled eagerly, “Si—to put the fear of God into him. Good for a child, I think.”  
  
“Good for everyone, I think.”

* * *

When the twins arrived, they hugged her gently, as they’d been directed to do by their father. John was delighted to see his former wife looking so much like herself, both for her and for the girls.  
  
Caroline and Cassidy sat on the chairs that Wanda had brought in for their visit and John sat on the bed.  
  
Caroline was shyly but incredibly inquisitive, “So….Mom—how does it feel to get shot?”  
  
Cassidy was horrified and popped her sister on the arm with her hand but Miranda ignored this, “It’s very shocking—and it hurts—and that’s about it.”  
  
Caroline continued, “Was there lots of blood?”  
  
“Jesus H. Christ, Car” Cassidy said, in a huff.  
  
Miranda winked at Cassidy in sympathy before answering, “I believe there was—on me and the carpet but more on Emily, who saved me.”  
  
“Who cares about that stuff?” Cassidy said as she jumped up and hugged Miranda, “We’re so glad you’re okay, Mommy.”  
  
Caroline followed suit and Miranda hugged them both, looking over two strawberry blonde heads to their father, who was quite amused. But for only a moment. “Girls, a nice hug is fine but let her go—she’s had surgery.”  
  
As her daughters reluctantly released her and sat down, Caroline continued her interrogation. “Dad says Andy’s been staying with you.”  
  
Honestly and God bless her, Miranda thought, this girl was headed for _The Enquirer_. “Yes, darling, she has been.”  
  
“Why’s that? She doesn’t work for you anymore.”  
  
Cassidy huffed again, “Honest to Pete, Car, give it a rest.”  
  
This, Miranda knew, was something of a bluff. Caroline always asked the questions both sisters wanted the answers to but Caroline had no tact. Cassidy did. Cassidy would have ferreted out the same information but in an infinitely more subtle way.  
  
So. Why? She looked at John and he jumped into the fray. “Girls, sometimes you meet people and you feel like you could be friends and sometimes not. What’s hard is when you meet someone you’d like to be friends with and that person works for you. That makes friendship inappropriate. It would make people think you liked them more than the other workers or cut them some slack on the job. You just can’t do it. So, now that Andy’s not working for your mom anymore, they can be friends. See what I mean?”  
  
The girls nodded in twin unison. “So you’re saying Andy’s your friend now?” Caroline said, unrelenting.  
  
“Yes, darling. Andrea is my friend—and she’s been very helpful and kind to me.”  
  
Cassidy, a canny girl with a poker face, said, “I think we should have her over to dinner when you get better, Mommy.”  
  
Miranda glanced at Cassidy, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But having seen and felt that look on her own face maybe more than 10,000 times in only the past five years, Miranda only smiled sweetly. “What a wonderful idea, Cassidy.”  
  
Miranda and John still had a sort of telepathy that friends of two decades, lovers and ex-spouses have—a telepathy of facial expressions.  
     
She shot him a look that said, *Where the hell did we get these two?*  
  
And his answering look said, *Don’t ask me. They’re certainly yours—the paternity I can’t vouch for.*  
  
*Oh no, you don’t—they’re yours and you know it—you bastard.*  
  
*Aww...I love you, Mir.*  
  
*Fuck you…darling.*  
  
And then they beamed at each other.  
  
The girls were aware their parents were looking at each other in the weird way they sometimes did, but they’d found out long ago they’d never understand it.  
  
Miranda smiled at her family, and despite the fact she and John could no longer live together, they were still all a family.  For the second time that day, she felt a bliss and peace she only associated with her family and, now, with Andrea. She smirked when she thought what that might mean for their future.

* * *

Andy arrived soon after, bearing the latest Scotty Peace offering. She smiled as she unburdened herself of her cooler, then crossed to shake hands with and greet John. She said, “Hi, Caroline, hi Cassidy.”  
  
Both twins were impressed she knew the difference between them but only Caroline asked, “How’d you know who’s who?”  
  
Andy shrugged, “It used to be my job to know and now it’s sorta obvious.”  She then kissed Miranda squarely on the cheek, which rather surprised the girls, who were not used to people having the audacity to touch their mother.  
  
But their mother did not look displeased. Rather the opposite.  In fact, she looked suddenly more energized and radiant. John noticed this, as well.  
  
Interesting, he thought.  
  
Interesting if it was what it looked like it might be. But good for her, if that were true. Good for her. He’d remarried years ago and had watched with dismay the disaster of Stephen, who’d never been a match for his tempestuous Miranda. She would always be a part of him—as he would always be a part of her. Their long history, love for each other and their children made this an adamantine relationship. Apart but always, in some essential way, together. And he was proud of the effort they’d both made to make this true.  
  
“So, Andrea, what do you have for me?”  
  
“That’s a secret, Miranda. I’ll go get some coffee while you guys visit.”  
  
John jumped up—“Nope—no bother, we need to get going, girls. You’re mom’s coming home tomorrow. Let’s not tire her out.”  
  
The girls leapt up and hugged and kissed their mother. John kissed her cheek and then patted Andy as he said, “Take care of our girl.”  
  
The look in the man’s eye complicity suggested an understanding she hadn’t expected. “Will do. And my pleasure, John.”

* * *

As her family left and the door finally closed Miranda whispered, “For God’s sake, come kiss me—right now.”  
  
Andy was happy to comply, though briefly. As she stood, she said, “Longer kisses, hour-long kisses are in our future—we just have to get you home. And speaking of home,” she said with delight, “tomorrow, huh?”  
  
“Yes—and I’ve conscripted poor Wanda to take care of me for two days.” She told Andy the rest of the story before they plowed into yet another exquisite meal.  
  
“I’m so excited, Miranda—so glad you’re okay.”  
  
“Cassidy said you’d have to come to dinner soon.”  
  
The tone of Miranda’s voice gave Andy pause, “Did she, now.”  
  
“Yes—I believe she thinks that ‘something’s up’”  
  
“Well, something is up, isn’t it?”  
  
“Very definitely.”  
  
They finished dinner speaking perfectly amicably about the day’s events.  
  
Miranda, of course, noted that Andy had worn True Religion jeans today, as well as Christian Louboutin flats. But she was still wearing a large white man’s button down shirt, with something she could just barely identify under it.  
  
As Andy cleared their plates for another game of UNO, she unbuttoned two buttons on her shirt.  
  
There. Ah. That was it. It was a dark Marc Jacobs sheath that accentuated the breasts of the wearer because it was impossible to wear a bra beneath it.  
  
Miranda closed her eyes and opened them and sniffed before saying, “Did you feel that you needed to distract me to win at a card game?”  
  
Andy smiled as she shuffled the cards. “Oh? Is this a distraction? I’m sorry. Want me to button up?”  
  
Miranda’s face was pink. “No, Unbutton. More. Two more buttons.”  
  
Andy complied and pulled the button down aside, so that Miranda could more easily view what she’d exposed.  
  
As she dealt, Andy said casually. “You might notice how hard my nipples are right now, Miranda.”  
  
She looked up, “Do you?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
“I’m not cold, Miranda. Your eyes are enough. Even the idea of your looking at my breasts is enough.”  
  
And then, suddenly, there was a look in Miranda’s eyes that Andy had never seen before, although she’d thought she’d catalogued every possible permutation of Miranda’s expressions.  
  
“And so now you’re teasing me with your beautiful breasts, your perfectly gorgeous breasts?” Miranda leaned back and looked at Andy over her half glasses. “You’re so pink, Andrea. You’re so young and, although you may not imagine so, in your heart of hearts, you still think of yourself as a girl. You’re not a virgin but you’re still so virginal. In your mind, you still feel like a virgin girl. And, believe it or not, it shows. To a person of discernment, that is. And I’m nothing if not discerning.”  
  
She sat forward and her voice had the cool, commanding tone that had always sent shivers through Andy, “I promise you, that when I’m well and when we finally do what we are so obviously going to do with each other, you will never feel virginal again and you’ll definitely be a woman.”  
  
The look in Miranda’s eye left as quickly as it had appeared. “Ready to play?”  
  
Andy was scarlet—from what she knew not. Embarrassment? Anticipation? She made a motion to button her shirt but Miranda spoke sharply, “Absolutely not. Don’t cover what you wanted to show me. Besides, that visual distraction may give you a fighting chance in our UNO.”  
  
Finally, Andy smiled through her crimson blushing, “Fuck you, Miranda.”  
  
“Yes. I believe you will be doing just that. But I’ll go first in that endeavor. Believe me. Age before beauty.”  
  
Andy hadn’t realized that she might have problems with blood pressure but she felt the blood pounding in her ears.  
  
As if Miranda could understand what she was thinking she said, “Oh, come here, silly. Lean forward.”  
  
Andy did so and Miranda gently applied her iced glass of water to each of Andy’s cheeks, which felt heavenly.  
  
“Closer, Andy, my love.”  
  
As Andy leaned closer, Miranda leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. “I’m older than you are, as we both know. I enjoy, even adore, your teasing but don’t think I won’t tease right back.”  
  
“Message received.”  
  
Miranda laughed and took up her cards. Andy looked at hers.  
  
After looking over her cards, Miranda pronounced a verdict, “You’re mine, Sachs.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes without taking her eyes from her hand, “As if I didn’t know that.”

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

Andy won the first hand.  Putting her last card down, she smiled triumphantly and firmly said “UNO.”  
  
Miranda looked over her half glasses. “My, my. You do like winning, don’t you? I think perhaps we need to work under the same handicap. Change seats with me.”  
  
“What? Why? That chair’s more comfortable for you with—”  
  
“Change seats with me because I asked nicely.”  
  
Andy stood, rounded the rolling table and sat in the recline-a-bit. Miranda took the visitor’s chair with her back to the room door. She loosened her robe and Andy felt a rush of surreal incredulity as Miranda looked her in the eyes and unbuttoned three buttons of her silk pajama top, pulling them slightly aside. The effect was everything Miranda could have hoped for—leaving the younger woman looking slightly like a wholly shocked and gigged fish.  
  
Andy immediately realized her mouth was hanging open, which couldn’t possibly be attractive. She snapped it shut, swallowed but found the only thing she was able to formulate was an, “Oh my God,” and that in a whisper. She stared at the woman’s breasts, the lines of her collarbones, her beautiful neck, that expanse of lovely, flawless skin.  
  
“Oh, Miranda,” Andy whispered, as she looked up into the woman’s eyes, “You are so incredibly beautiful.” The obvious desire Miranda had counted on but the aching tenderness and the welling of tears in those brown eyes were so wholly unexpected that she felt her heart actually skip a beat. She stared at Andy, trying to believe what she was seeing in those eyes, trying to believe she understood what was actually happening. She took a sip of water and was embarrassed to see her hand was trembling. As she put the cup down, Andy gently touched her hand and they twined their fingers.   
  
Andy licked her lips and said in a shaking voice. “Miranda…I know we’re teasing each other and talking about dating but if this happens, it’s going to be very important, very serious for me.” She hesitated, then tried to sound more self-assured, “If this is just fun for you or it can’t be real for you because of…” she chuckled unhappily, “God, there’s a laundry list—your job, your status, your kids, our ages, our families, the gay thing—any reason, just tell me now. Please.” Her eyes were imploring, “We’re at different places in our lives and you’re tied to so much more than I am and you know so much more than I do so tell me. Let’s not do this if you know we really can’t. It would break my heart.”  
  
Well yes, as Miranda had thought, this was actually happening. She cleared her throat and held Andy’s hand more tightly. “What we are doing is completely unreasonable, quixotic and probably insane. But this will happen despite every reason you mentioned and one hundred others I could think of right off the top of my head. It will happen because, my darling Andy, when I say I never want you to leave me, I’m not being hyperbolic. I mean I never want you to leave me. I’m very serious. I can’t lose you again.”  
  
Andy closed her eyes in relief for a few moments, then leapt up, leaned over the table and kissed her with a smile so bright that, as she took her seat again, Miranda actually laughed a real, full-throated, lusty laugh.  
  
“Jesus, Miranda. I didn’t know you could laugh like that.”  
  
“It is a rarity. I have to be surprised by happiness.”  
  
“Then we’ll have to work on the frequency of that.”  
  
“We’ll see.” Miranda gave her a half smile before she began to button her pajama top and as she did so, her normally cool and virtually expressionless demeanor returned, which did not surprise Andy one bit. She was learning that Miranda could be quite sweet but doling out more than small servings of sensitivity made her uncomfortable and testy.  
  
As Miranda tied her robe, she huffed as if nothing of importance had been said, “Honestly Andrea, the discussions we get into playing a friendly game of UNO.”  
  
Andy shuffled the deck, “Actually, I think the problem was the _topless_ game of UNO part.”  
  
“Your idea entirely, if I remember correctly.”  
  
Andy dealt the cards, “I am not topless, Miranda.”  
  
“Spare me that quibble. You may as well be. That sheathe leaves nothing to the imagination.”  
  
“Really? What color are my nipples?”  
  
Miranda’s cheeks felt a bit warm, “I’m sure I don’t know and that’s purely a technicality.”  
  
“Please! You don’t think of colors as technicalities, Priestly. And even if you did, that’s a technicality you may find interesting one day. I know what color your nipples are—and I find that very interesting.”  
  
Miranda rolled her eyes, “Oh my God. I need a drink.”  
  
“Sure, sweetie. Apple juice? Ginger ale?”  
  
“More along the lines of Scotch.”  
  
Andy immediately buttoned her shirt and put a cool hand on Miranda’s warm cheek, “You need ginger ale. I can tell you’re at least a cup low.”

* * *

Miranda won the next hand, naturally, and as she did so, the younger woman found it amazing how incredibly fully a person could gloat with an utter lack of expression. She looked at the clock and reluctantly began to pack the cards, saying “I need to get home, sweetheart.”  
  
“I know,” Miranda said as stood and took off her robe, “could you help me to the bathroom before you leave?”  
  
Andy grinned, “Absolutely, Miranda. Your health and safety are my top concerns.”  
  
As they entered the bathroom and closed the door, Miranda turned and pulled Andy into a hug. Although Andy couldn’t know it, their discussion had only ratcheted up Miranda’s sexual desire. Although Miranda couldn’t know it, their discussion had dispelled most of Andy’s and she merely found it immensely comforting just to hold the other woman. She ran one hand up Miranda’s back, then ran her fingers gently over the soft skin of her neck and feathered the even softer white hair at her hairline.  She whispered, “I’m going to miss you so much tonight.”  
  
Miranda pulled back just enough to look into Andy’s eyes, “Show me. Kiss me.”  
  
Andy kissed her gently and chastely. Miranda parted her lips as she sighed and their mouths met again. A firm hand on her neck combined with the slow, gentle exploration of her mouth told Miranda that her partner wanted to control the heat and depth of this kiss. So they kissed slowly, enjoying the softness of each others' lips, their tongues only lightly brushing each other.  
  
But, as they kissed, Miranda found herself overwhelmed by flashes of feelings—this was an end, Andrea was leaving her again, she wouldn’t come back. Andrea could not leave her. Could never leave her. This would never, ever be enough. And then an enormous flashgun went off in her mind and she thought _Oh. My. God_.  
  
Holding Andy with one arm, she used her other hand to slide under the white button-down until she was touching the sheer cloth covering the younger woman’s side. Andy moaned into her mouth and the kiss was instantly much deeper. Miranda slid her pinky finger beneath the boundary between jeans and sheer cloth and languidly moved her hand around the woman’s side until she reached her lower back. She pulled Andy closer from above and below. Both women could feel each others' hardened nipples and Miranda could feel Andy’s mound right above hers.  
  
Andy moaned again as she felt Miranda reach into her pants until her hand was firmly right above her ass. She pulled an astonished Andy forward with surprising strength and ground the girl against her, thrusting her tongue deeply into her mouth. Andy was an expert at following instructions, so she took over, grabbing Miranda’s hips and grinding herself against the woman. The angle was really entirely wrong but the friction and the fact that it was _Miranda_ who was relentlessly tongue-fucking her was spreading sensation deliciously downward.  
  
She was so lost in the very idea of Miranda that she barely registered the woman’s releasing her grip on her upper back. But she certainly registered the woman’s hand as it covered her breast and squeezed it. When Miranda found her nipple, she circled it, then tugged in the same rhythm as Andy’s thrusts against her. Soon, Miranda heard and felt Andy’s breathing becoming erratic, her thrusting more frantic. When the heat and movement became almost feverish, Miranda broke their kiss and said in her coolest command voice, “Come, Andrea” at the very moment she pinched Andy’s nipple very, very hard.  
  
That was enough to send Andy right over the top and she dropped her mouth into Miranda’s shoulder in order the to stifle her cry. Miranda stopped all movement except to wrap Andy in a gentle hug as she caught her breath.  
  
When they finally released each other, Andy was struck by the look of shock and perturbation on Miranda’s face.  
  
“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Andy’s mind jumped forward, “Oh my God. Did I hurt you? Do you need to sit down?”  
   
Miranda shook her head but didn’t meet Andy’s eyes. “No. I’m fine but maybe I should get into bed. I’ll brush my teeth and be right out.”  
  
Andy left the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She sort of plopped onto Miranda’s bed and ran her hands through her hair. As an exquisitely accurate reader of Miranda’s moods, she knew something was very wrong. She vaguely entertained the idea of thinking about what that might be but decided against it. She’d know, or wouldn’t, soon enough.   
  
In a few minutes Miranda emerged and Andy jumped up to help her. Miranda didn’t look at her, merely waved her off. “I’m fine, Andrea. I don’t need your help.”  
  
Andy’s stomach lurched and she took a deep breath.  
  
When Miranda had settled into bed, she asked, “Would you please bring a chair over so I can speak to you.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.” Andy grabbed a chair and braced herself emotionally.  
  
Miranda finally looked at her. “I want to apologize.”  
  
Andy couldn’t discern whether the deep flush in the woman’s face was because of their earlier passion or deep embarrassment. “For what, exactly?”  
  
Miranda leaned back against her pillows. “You were kissing me very sweetly and _that_ should have been enough. That was appropriate—we kiss each other goodnight and then we date for a while and _only then_ do we…” She shook her head as if to clear it, “I don’t know what came over me.”  
  
Before Andy could reply, Miranda held up a hand to stop her. “That’s not true. I know exactly what came over me.”  Miranda opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then stared into Andy’s eyes. There was such raw anxiety in those blue eyes that it took Andy’s breath. “Will you listen to me very carefully, Andrea? I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you and I’ll never repeat it.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath. “In every way except the physical, I feel like I’ve been starving all my life. Nothing has ever satisfied me. Nothing has ever filled me. As wealthy as I am, sometimes I feel like that image of the grubby, penniless starving child with its face pressed up against the glass front of a restaurant.” She smiled briefly and mirthlessly at this absurdity.  
  
“I wake up empty and hungry and I go to bed empty and hungry every day of my life and it’s made me what I am. It’s made me a bitch and it’s made me a success because no one is hungrier than I am.” Her voice softened, “I thought having children would help. And they did. They took the edge off because at least I can ensure that they don’t grow up feeling the way I do.”  
  
She leaned back and closed her eyes for a few moments, something for which Andy, who was about to cry, was grateful.  
  
Miranda continued, “I’ve lived in the hope all these years that I wouldn’t always be empty. And then oddly enough, something happened. More than a year ago now. Something happened and I began to feel that there was something out there. But I didn’t know what it was. It was as if I looked into the restaurant just as a waiter passed by with something. But quickly. _Too_ quickly. And I hadn’t expected the waiter to come from that direction so I only caught it out of the corner of my eye. But I knew I’d seen it. It existed. The one thing I needed existed.”  
  
Miranda opened her eyes and turned to Andy. “Then one day, it was just…gone. I turned around and even the window was gone. I didn’t even know what it was but I knew it was gone and all hope for it was gone.”  
  
Tears filled Miranda’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. “And since I lost even the hope for it, I have been angrier and emptier and hungrier than I have ever been in my life.”  
  
Miranda wiped her cheeks but the tears continued to well, continued to fall.  
  
“Believe it or not—and I know you will—I can be quite obtuse about my feelings. These few days, since you walked back into my life, I’ve wondered what on Earth has gotten into me. What’s been wrong with me. I don’t date women. I don’t beg them to stay with me. I don’t panic thinking about their leaving me. I chalked it up to the facts that we’re friends, I care deeply for you, we’re oddly compatible and I’m simply physically attracted to you. But when you held me and kissed me tonight and I knew you were leaving me, I finally, finally understood.”  
  
She fiercely wiped the tears from her eyes and Andy flinched as she pounded the bed with one fist, “And that is why I made a fool of myself in the bathroom. I truly could hardly help myself.  It’s _you_. It’s always been you. I’ve been starving for _you_.”   
  
Andy exhaled forcefully, feeling like someone had literally reached into her chest and squeezed her heart and she knew the shock she felt must be entirely visible on her face.  
   
Indeed. Miranda noted this. “So there you have it. Now that I’ve made my stupid, insipid little confession, I wouldn’t blame you if you ran for the hills. It sounds crazy and pathetic and I feel crazy and pathetic having said it.”  
  
Andy heard the slight tone of angry defiance in the woman’s voice, her signal that she was ready to suffer the rejection she was sure would come. How to react to such a stunning and painful admission? From Miranda, of all people? Andy smiled. Obviously, almost as if it hadn’t happened at all.  
  
“It doesn’t sound crazy or pathetic, sweetheart” she said lightly as she stood, kissed Miranda on the cheek, tenderly on the lips, then sat back down. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Jesus, I was almost begging you for reassurance earlier and now at least I know that you actually, secretly do like me.”  
  
Miranda searched her face for the truth of the statement, then pursed her lips, although her eyes were shining with affection. She hastened to add. “You do know, don’t you—I want to make sure you understand that although what I said is true, I’m still going to be what I am, for better or worse. I’m still going to be me.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t want you any other way. If you became all sweetness and light, I’d kill you. Now, about this bathroom thing. You certainly didn’t make a fool of yourself. I obviously wanted you just as much as you wanted me. So don’t be sorry about that. I’m not.”  
  
Miranda tilted her head skeptically, “You’re not sorry that the first time we had sex was standing in a bathroom with no lock on the door? Really?” Her eyes narrowed, “Or have you done this sort of thing before?”  
  
Andy snorted a laugh and crossed herself, “Cross my heart, I have never, ever done anything like this. But I’m really not sorry I did it with you. As far as the first time is concerned, the first time we make love, there won’t be any clothes involved and we’ll be in a bed. The only thing I’m sorry about is that it wasn’t reciprocal.”  
  
Miranda waved a dismissive hand, “That’s immaterial.”  
  
“Not to me.”  
  
“You’ll just have to owe me.”  
   
“I’ll owe you with interest.”  
  
“Yes. Compound interest that accrues daily.”  
  
“Wow. I’d better get to work soon then and don’t think I’m not looking forward to it. Anyone who can make me—“ Here Andy stopped, not knowing what words Miranda liked and didn’t like. People could be so picky about sex terminology and this was the pickiest person she’d ever known.  
  
Sensing the issue, Miranda offered dryly, “Use whatever language you like. I’ve heard it all and have probably used it all. I’ve been known to have a remarkably dirty mouth in bed.”  
  
Andy’s eyes lit up, “O- _kay_. That’s just so…. _beyond_ hot. What was I saying? Oh yeah. Anyone who can make me come in about 2.5 minutes standing in a hospital bathroom fully clothed—I gotta say, if I were wearing a hat, it’d be off to you.”  
  
Miranda smiled, a real smile, and said with a lovely Southern drawl, “Why thank ya, ma’am. I certainly do appreciate it. My pleasure, entirely.”  
   
At that moment, Nan entered, “Oh hi, Andy—I didn’t know you were still here.”  
  
“Yep. Just winding up our visit.”  
  
“I won’t bother you then. Ms. Priestly, you’re not scheduled for anything tonight except pain meds if you need them. I can also give you a little Benadryl if you have trouble sleeping. So let me know if you need anything.”  
  
“I think I would like some Benadryl in about an hour. I’m sure you know hospitals aren’t conducive to good sleep.”  
  
“I know I couldn’t sleep in one. I’ll bring it by later.”  
  
“Thank you, Nan.”  
  
The door closed and Miranda said, “Alone at last.”  
  
Which put a gleam in Andy’s eyes.  
  
“Oh dear. What are you thinking, Andrea?”  
  
“I was just wondering if you were…still a little excited from our encounter earlier?”  
  
Miranda gave Andy a look that made her shiver and said in a low tone that made her shiver again. “Andrea, are you asking me if I’m still wet and whether, perhaps, when you leave I might be inclined to assist myself in some way?”  
  
Andy gulped and nodded.  
  
“Yes to both questions.”  
  
Andy gave her a puppy-dog look.  
  
“And now I believe you’re asking if, perhaps, I’d do it front of you?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“How interesting. Would you really like to watch?”  
  
“You don’t know how much. I could…I could even help.”  
  
“Could you now? Even with the knowledge that a nurse or nurse tech might barge into this room at any time? They almost never knock and you know it.” Miranda raised one eyebrow and smirked.  “Aren’t you a dark horse? Sex in public places. Who knew? Somehow, if I’d ever thought about it in the past, I would have painted you so very vanilla. Back to the subject—pray tell me, Andrea, exactly how would you help me?”  
  
Although Andy was pleased Miranda had regained her emotional equilibrium, she knew she had to take the slightly evil, mischievous glint in those blue eyes with that recovery. She chewed her bottom lip.  
  
“Cat got your tongue, Andrea?”  
  
Andy glared at her and read consummate amusement in Miranda’s expression.  
  
“Would you like me to help you tell me how you might help me, Andrea?”  
  
Andy gave that smart-ass question the look it deserved and her tone was snotty, “Yes please, Miranda.”  
  
“Alright. I assume you might touch me, correct?”  
  
Andy nodded, gritted her teeth and cursed her biology for causing most of her blood to rush to her face, which naturally, Miranda noticed.  
  
“Where would you touch me, Andrea? My breasts? Or would you be bolder? Would you touch my…what shall we call it? Hmmmm. How about pussy? It’s a vulgarism, of course, but a good word. Would you like to venture a guess why I think so?”  
  
“Oh no, thank you. I’d rather hear it from you.”   
  
“Of course you would, dear. A pussycat is a delightful furry creature that exists solely to be petted, loved and adored. I’m sure you can see the analogy and I believe the analogy is apt. So let’s call it that. Would you touch my pussy, Andrea?”  
  
In past encounters with the insufferably smug look that was now on Miranda’s face, Andy had wanted to smack it off. Now she just wanted to fuck it off.  
  
Whether she’d read her face or read her mind, Miranda suddenly laughed, entirely delighted, and raised her hands. “Alright, spoilsport, I’ll stop. And although I’d love to accommodate your original request, I think we’ve pressed our luck enough tonight. After all, you’re not the one who’d end up a headline on Page Six—‘ _Miranda Priestly Caught in Hospital Masturbatory Sex Romp!’_ ”   
  
“It’d sell a lot of papers.”  
  
“That it would.”  
  
“Hell, I know I’d read it.”  
  
Miranda grinned, then sighed as she caught sight of the clock, “You really need to leave, my love. I’ve kept you long enough. I don’t like to think of your riding the subway at this hour.”  
  
“I’m a big girl, Miranda. I’ll be okay and I’ll call you when I get home. Oh—if Emily says ‘thank you’ tomorrow, remember it’s for the flowers you sent her on Friday.”  
  
“I sent Emily flowers on Friday? My Emily?”  
  
Andy nodded, “Technically, I did. But you did to thank her for saving your life.”  
  
“My God. How sentimental of me.”  
  
“Just say ‘you’re welcome’, okay?”  
  
“I always find your etiquette lessons so edifying, Andrea.”  
  
“Shut up, Priestly.” She stood, kissed Miranda and grabbed her bag, “Any last orders, chief?”  
  
“Yes. Just one.”  
  
“Okay. Shoot.”  
  
Miranda sighed, “Having just suffered a gunshot wound, would you mind not using that particular colloquialism facetiously around me for a while?”  
  
Andy winced, “Oh yeah. Sorry. What can I do?”  
  
“You can think about everything we’ve talked about tonight. Think about your asking me not to get involved with you if it couldn’t be serious for me. Given what I’ve told you about my feelings for you, I would ask the same favor. Think about it. Really think about. You have an infinitely greater capacity to hurt me than I do to hurt you. That is one more thing I’ve never told another human being in my life, even and especially when it was true. I trust you to make the right decision for both of us.”  
  
Andy blinked, then stuttered, “I,I, Miranda, I can’t—“  
  
“Stop. No more. I trust you. Now go home.”  
  
Andy kissed Miranda again. “I’ll call you when I get home.”  
  
“I’ll be here.” She smiled a half smile that was not a real smile, which hurt Andy’s heart.  
  
As Andy closed the door, Miranda sniffed, lay back and looked at the ceiling. She felt very sure what the answer would be, once Andy had truly thought about it, and she thought what her life would be after that answer. Gray. Flat, gun-metal gray. As always. And so, as always, she would work harder to surround herself with the color and beauty, warmth and life she could never feel inside.

* * *

  
Andy had a perfectly wretched ride home on the subway, having determined for just a few minutes not to think about what she had to think about and failing miserably. After she’d locked her apartment door’s four locks, she’d slung her bag on the floor and made her call.  
  
Miranda answered, “Home, dear?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Good. I hope you sleep well.”  
  
“Thank you. You, too…I miss you, Miranda.”  
  
“Yes. I miss you, too.” Andy’s stomach fluttered. Miranda sounded so cold, so distant. “Well, Andrea, you know where I’ll be until further notice. Call me if you want. Good night.”  
   
“Good night.”  
  
As she snapped her phone shut, she knew exactly what the distance meant. Miranda was bracing herself for the worst. And it was up to her to decide whether the woman needed to or not.  
  
Fuck. She grabbed a bottle of wine, opened it and poured half of it into the biggest glass she had.  
  
She sat at her table and grabbed a legal pad and a pen, then threw the pen down. She could do this in her head. Much quicker. She’d just let her thoughts flow and continue to sip her wine.  
  
Okay. One. Miranda was a woman. Apparently, sexually, this no longer mattered to her. Ramifications? Family. Her brother Sam wouldn’t care at all. Her parents would be slightly disappointed but would get over it pretty quickly. Other relatives could deal with it however they liked. Friends. If any of her friends didn’t like it, they weren’t friends. Work. This was New York, for God’s sake.  
  
Two. Miranda was Miranda. Benefits huge. Possible ramifications. Privately? Her family didn’t like her for obvious reasons. She probably couldn’t tell them or her friends, for a while, anyway. If it went public? Huge. Intrusive to her, her family. Work. Might be hard to do interviews for a while if she were in the tabloids. But she didn’t think Mike would actually fire her.  
  
Three. What would they be to each other? Lovers? Partners? Would they live together eventually? Could they actually make a life together? And her kids? What about them? She’d have two kids instantly tied to her life. She’d never been the sort of girl who dreamed about her wedding and kids—she dreamed about her career. But what if she wanted kids, later? Would Miranda?  
  
Four: Age difference. Her family wouldn’t react well at all. Her friends would have to deal. But she had to admit that this was the big one for her. She could do the math very easily and it very quickly became daunting. In twenty years she’d be 45, still younger than Miranda was now. But Miranda would be 70. 70!  But if she found Miranda smoking hot now and if they were happy and together for 20 years, surely that would mean their age difference would seem pretty normal by then, right?  
  
Fuck it. None of these pseudo-lists were even remotely complete or actually getting her anywhere. “Stop thinking,” she said aloud. “How do you feel? Say it, Sachs.” Never had she been so glad to live alone. She took a long gulp of wine.  
  
“I respect her.” She shook her head in disgust, chugged some more wine and was surprised to see she’d finished her glass in…15 minutes. Hmmm. She was about the cheapest drunk she knew. But big decision. Liquid courage. She poured the rest of the bottle into her glass.  
  
“Okay. Again. And try to be honest this time.”  
  
She sat for a long time, drinking her wine, waiting for the courage to say what she felt.

* * *

At that moment, Emily was riding home in a cab. All in all, it had been a spectacularly successful second date.  After the movie, they’d gone back to Serena’s apartment and had opened a bottle of wine. They’d gossiped about _Runway_ , talked about their families, growing up, future plans. Emily had been slightly shocked this whole ‘Lesbian thing’ didn’t make dating all that different. One talked about the same things, certainly. And one found oneself either wanting to spend more time with the person or wishing them off the face of the planet. She definitely wanted to spend more time with Serena, even after the woman had told her the most shocking thing she’d ever heard in her life. But she could overlook it. Difficult, certainly, but not insurmountable. She thought back on the conversation….  
  
Serena had been lounging gorgeously on one end of the couch while Emily tried to achieve lounging gorgeous-ness on the other.  
  
“Emily, I feel I must tell you something if we are going to date again. It would be misleading to continue without your knowing.”  
  
This sounded so serious that Emily took a slug of wine that she hoped she’d made look like a ladylike sip. “Of course.”  
  
“This is something that can never get back to _Runway_ , you understand?”  
  
Emily nodded solemnly. “I won’t tell a soul.”  
  
Serena took a deep breath, “I can eat anything I want and not gain a pound.”  
  
Emily felt the world sway in front of her eyes. “Pardon me—did you say you can…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.  
  
“Yes. It’s true. I hope it won’t hurt our friendship.”  
  
Emily spluttered, “But…but…you eat such small portions at _Runway_.”  
  
“I ask you, English, would it be fair to gorge myself in front of all those starving women?”  
  
Emily managed to answer, “I suppose not. But—what does anything mean? Really _anything_? Carbs? Fats?”  
  
“It means that I can, and often do, eat like a Sumo wrestler and never gain an ounce. I sometimes have to get up in the middle of the night to eat—just to keep weight on. Doctors have told me I have the metabolism of a hummingbird.”  
  
Emily was astonished to feel tears well in her eyes, “Bloody hell! That’s just so unfair!”  
  
Nodding her complete agreement, Serena let her process the information for a few moments before asking, “Still friends?”  
  
Emily wiped her eyes and waved one hand,  _a la_ Priestly,  “Oh, of course we are. I’m not  completely thick. Just a shock is all.”  
  
“I promise I won’t eat so much in front of you, if that will help.”  
  
“No, of course not. In private, you should eat as much as you want. I’ll probably enjoy eating vicariously through you.”  
  
“I could always give you tiny bites of what I’m having.”  
  
“That you could,” Emily held out her wineglass, “To vicarious pleasure.” Serena tapped it with her own and replied, “To future shared pleasure.”  
  
Emily blushed and Serena laughed, “Ah, my English rose blooms again.”  
  
They’d talked some more, shared more wine and a positively delicious kiss before she’d left….  
  
The cab’s sudden stop jolted Emily back into the moment. She was home. _Yes_ , she thought with a smile, _despite that appalling confession, more Serena was definitely in order._

* * *

The glass was empty and the buzz Andy knew would come suddenly arrived, but not like a bee—like a beehive. She sat up straight in her chair. Right. Question. How did she feel about Miranda?  
  
As she began to speak, she realized that the acuity of her pronunciation was certainly impaired. “She makes me happier and more miserable than anyone on Earth. She picks on me and makes me feel good about myself. I like who I am when I’m with her. She smells nice and her skin is soft and she’s smarter and prettier and meaner and sweeter than anybody in the whole world.” Andy paused here and said to the table, “I’m drunk.”  
  
She got up and threw herself onto her sofa, blinking her eyes at the ceiling. “What’s the answer?”  The ceiling didn’t tell her. Try again. “Okay. There’s no one like her. No one. No one else exists for me if she’s in the room. It’s always been that way and it will always be that way.” Andy paused, snickered, then abandoned herself to a deep, relieved belly laugh. _That_ was the answer. Put thousands of people in a room and she would always find Miranda. She would always want to be with Miranda, only Miranda. She loved her. All that other stuff they could work out. “Jesus,” she said to the ceiling, “that was a lot easier than I thought.” If the ceiling replied, she didn’t hear it. She was out like a light.

* * *

She woke up from a dream at 425AM. She thought groggily for two minutes before she decided she had to see Miranda this morning. She couldn’t bear knowing the woman might worry all day with no reason and couldn’t bear not knowing the answers to her one question. She sat up on the couch, but much too quickly. Holy _shit._ Her head felt like someone with little experience was trying to get out of it with a hammer and her mouth felt like the Sahara on a particularly dry day.  
  
Shower. Coffee. Toast.  
  
After these restoratives, and two Tylenol, she felt half-human and was dressed and ready to leave her apartment by 5:30. She winced a bit as she rang Miranda’s room but the woman answered after two rings.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
_Good. She didn’t sound like she’d been asleep._  
  
“Miranda?”  
  
“Andrea? You’re certainly up with the birds.”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Sure am. I wanted to know if I could come see you before I went to work?”  
  
“And when would that be?”  
  
“I could be there in about 30 minutes.”  
  
“Is there a particular point to this meeting?”  
  
“I have something to discuss with you that can’t wait until the end of the day.”  
  
There was a long pause. “Very well. I’ll require coffee, as you know.”  
  
“Already on the list, sweetheart. See you soon.”  
  
As Miranda hung up the phone, she took a deep breath. _Here it comes_ , she thought. She may as well prepare a face to meet the face…  
  
She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, applied her makeup and restored her hair to its usual perfection. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and realized, one way or another, this would be resolved within two hours. And she could make it through two hours, and through the rest of her life, if need be. Of course she could. She was Miranda Priestly.

* * *

Once Andy had bull-shitted her way into Miranda’s room during what were certainly not visiting hours, she found a perfectly composed, dressed and coifed woman sitting patiently in her chair.  
   
Andy had never thought a recline-a-bit could look like a throne but it could, if the right person were sitting in it.  
  
“Hi, sweetheart.” She threw her bag on the floor and rushed over to kiss Miranda on the cheek and hand her a scalding hot cup of coffee.  
  
Miranda nodded. “Thank you, Andrea. As you know, I don’t like waiting—for anything. Tell me. Is this coffee a morning greeting or a consolation prize?”  
  
Andy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled and pulled up a chair. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about. I had one question for you.”  
  
Miranda sipped her coffee and asked, with faux sweetness “Only one? As much as you like to talk?”  
  
_Ouch,_ Andy thought. _Miranda had certainly worked herself into a snit. But whateve_ r.  
  
“Yes, Miranda. I plan to astound you with my concision this morning.”  
  
Despite herself, Miranda’s lips twitched at this. “Proceed.”  
  
Andy took a long pull at her coffee, which was doing miracles for her aching head. “As you know, I’m much younger than you are.”  
  
“Granted.”  
  
“We’ve never talked about this but I really never thought about having a husband or children. Really ever. I guess I sort of hazily imagined I might have them some day, like everyone else, but I was never that girl who dreamed about them. You know what I mean? I thought about my career—what I might accomplish.”  
  
Miranda nodded, but more thoughtfully.  
  
“What I wanted to ask is….”  She paused, then continued, “This is sort of embarrassing. I don’t know that I want to have any children at all—but let’s say we were together. _Together_ together. And what if I decided I really wanted to have children. With you? What would you say to that?”  
  
Miranda felt like she’d been hit in the side of the head with a boat oar. This was the girl’s one question? Alright—admittedly, a tremendously important one.  
  
She gathered her wits. “It would depend. Children is a plural noun. Might you want a reasonable number of children or a gaggle of children?”  
  
“Define gaggle, Miranda.”  
  
“More than two,” she said firmly, “excluding my own, of course.”  
  
“Two would be enough but like I said, I don’t know that I’ll want any of my own.”  
  
Miranda put her cup of coffee on the floor as she was thinking. “I would ask you to keep two things in mind.”  
  
“Okay. Let’s hear them.”  
  
“I would prefer, if you have any control over your biological clock, that you set it sooner rather than later. I don’t want to be so old that we have 3.5 generations gathering together when there should be two. It would offend my sensibilities.”  
  
Andy almost laughed but wisely didn’t. “Okay. What’s next?”  
  
“If you want a child, I would set my sights on one, rather than two. Once you had one, you would be the best judge whether my temperament could handle two.”   
   
“Point taken. Okay. Case closed. I’ve made my decision.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“Which is obvious. Isn’t it?”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“I love you and will never leave you as long as I live unless you push me away. Even then, you will have to push me very, very hard.”  
  
Andy watched Miranda with alarm as she collapsed into her chair and closed her eyes. And then Miranda began to laugh. Great whoops of laughter. Hearty, lusty laughter. Laughter that made tears stream down her face. There was joy—true disbelieving joy in her face, something Andy had never seen.  
  
Something that made Andy laugh with her and, suddenly, begin to cry with her.  
  
But, as usual, Miranda regained her composure incredibly quickly and looked somewhat like a Vulcan caught having an emotional episode. “You’re serious, aren’t you, Andrea?”  
  
“Of course I am.”  
  
“There are so many other things to consider.”  
  
“Of course there are. And believe me, I considered them all over an entire bottle of wine last night.”  
  
“Ah—so that’s why you look dehydrated. You must always remember to hydrate your skin, Andrea.”  
  
Andy ignored her, “We’ll work our problems out.”  
  
Miranda wiped her happy eyes and said with some hauteur, “Of course we will. What any artist in my medium needs to know is the end result. We have it—we are together. Given that, everything else will follow.”  
  
Andy wondered who really cared about artists when in love. “I love you, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda looked as if she could not half believe what she was hearing. “And I love you. More than I could ever tell you.”  
  
Andy smiled, “You tell me every minute—even when you’re awful.”  
  
“We are oddly matched.”  
  
“Evenly matched, I think.”

* * *

Andy had had to leave for work quickly after their talk but she’d thought about it on the subway.  
  
Joy. That was the look she’d never thought she’d ever see on Miranda’s face and now she had. Pure, unalloyed joy—joy that Miranda could trust, because now she had a trusted partner in it.  
  
She shook her head in sheer wonder. On Friday, she’d been completely single. On Sunday, she was probably nearly permanently committed to a woman twice her age.  
  
She smiled. Miranda was nothing if not efficient.

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

It was ridiculous in some ways, Miranda thought as she opened the door to her townhouse with a hesitant Wanda behind her, to have so much space for four people. Actually, given her penchant for divorce, more often for three people and an enormous dog, she amended ruefully. Regardless, she rarely felt the weight of her wealth because her small cadre of friends were either similarly wealthy and, therefore, immune to it or were not and merely wished to seem immune to it.  
  
“ _Ay Dios mio_!” Wanda said as they entered the foyer.  
  
“Yes. I know. It’s a little large for my children and me but we like it.”  
  
“Si. What is not to like? It is beautiful.”  
  
“Thank you.” Miranda said as she heard her cook and general head of household walking toward her, “Brace yourself, Wanda. Here comes trouble.”  
  
As tiny as she was, Magdalena Vargas was nearly as imposing a woman as Miranda, which was one of the reasons they had gotten along for nearly 13 years. As terribly as Magdalena sometimes acted in the beginning, Miranda had never fired her for some reason. After a few years, she realized the reason was that, despite the woman’s vehement protestations against her, she actually adored her employer as virtually no one in her life ever had. Magdalena dated no one, had no children and cared for no one, it seemed, beside her and the children and her job.  
  
As the older yet beautiful woman approached, she scowled at Miranda and Wanda with real ferocity and shook her finger, “Ah ah ah, Miranda! If you need the vacation from me, ask me to leave—and vamoose! I am gone. You do not need to get shot all these times—it tires me and the children.”  
  
Seeing the real anxiety and concern in the woman’s liquid brown eyes, Miranda smiled very sweetly and merely conceded, “It tired me too. Magdalena Vargas—this is Wanda Castillo, my nurse in the hospital and my nurse for the next two days.”  
  
Miranda watched as the two women exchanged what she assumed were pleasantries in a Spanish too advanced for her to understand. Wanda turned to her after the introduction and said, “Ms. Miranda, we must get you into your room so that you can rest.”  
  
This was interrupted by an explosion of Spanish from Magdalena, after which Wanda grimaced, “She said I am not to call you Ms. Miranda because it will make your head too big.”  
  
Miranda chuckled as she headed up the stairs, “I’m sure she’s right—my ego is quite large enough as it is. Magdalena knows that better than anyone. I’ll show you this floor later, Wanda. Follow me.”  
  
Magdalena sneered but called up after her employer, “Lunch is soup and you eat the bread, you hear me, or I will do something terrible.”  
  
“Yes, Magdalena. I will. After the hospital food, I’m looking forward to it.”  
  
“I am not kidding you, Miranda Priestly.”  
  
“I know you’re not, Magdalena Vargas.” Miranda called down.  
  
Miranda took a breath and walked forward pointing to rooms along the way, “This is my private study and the girls’ rooms are here….and here. They have an entertainment room…here and there are two guest rooms here, as well.”  
  
As Miranda climbed to the third floor, she offered “My office is here, my bedroom is here, then my closet and the guest bedroom where you’ll be staying is next to it.”  
  
“Pardon, Ms. Miranda—your closet is a room?”   
  
“Call me Miranda and, yes, my closet is a room. Would you like to see it?”  
  
“Oh si. Very much. Please.”   
  
She opened the door to her closet and Wanda’s jaw dropped. The room was probably larger than the square footage of her entire home.  
  
“I know. I know it’s rather…spacious but you do understand my job is fashion, do you not?”  
  
“Oh, si.”  
  
Miranda perused, with satisfaction, the racks upon racks of clothes and shoes, all color-coordinated and separated by season and designer. “I am the most influential fashion voice in the world, Wanda. I’m given more clothes in a week than you probably buy in a year. That’s just true.”   
  
She led the way from her closet into her master bedroom, which was even larger and as Wanda took this in, she said, “That is very good for you. You cannot help being very rich, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda nodded at the use of her name without the Ms. and took a seat on her bed. “Actually, Wanda, I could help it. I did help it. I was as poor as you can imagine when I was young. I’ve worked very hard for every penny I have.”  
  
“Then you deserve it, do you not?”  
  
“I don’t know if I deserve it but I have earned it. Yes.”  
  
Wanda shrugged, “So there it is. Are you tired, Miranda?”  
  
“A little. Maybe I’ll take a short nap and you can relax next door? There’s a television and I asked Magdalena to put some Spanish magazines in the room for you as well. She can get you anything you need. Just ask—and feel free to ask. That’s her job.”  
  
“I will keep it in mind but I think not. It will be good just to relax. If my room is one tiny bit this size—it’s perfection.”  
  
Miranda smiled, “Perfection. My favorite word.”  
  
Wanda grinned and said, “That does not surprise me. It’s something Ms. Andy—Andy said about you. You like the perfection. But perfection rarely happens in this life. It is a very hard thing to want. You know this, no?”  
  
Blue eyes flickered with amusement, “Better than most people on Earth. However, perfection does occur more frequently when you demand it. Trust me on that point.”  
  
Wanda smiled, “I will. You take your nap. After lunch I will help you with the shower and change your dressings.”  
  
“Good. Thank you.”  
  
Wanda went to the room Miranda had indicated and marveled at the opulence of just this one, of many, guest bedrooms. She peered into the bathroom, at the large Jacuzzi tub. Thick cloths, towels, bath salts and oils were placed next to the tub, as well as a thick and gorgeous robe. It was a like a vacation at a hotel she could never afford. And it was really too bad that her husband Carlo was not here with her to enjoy it. But she would—she laughed aloud. She’d enjoy the luxury enough for both of them.

* * *

  
Andy was writing the leader for her article when she felt the buzz of a text message and pulled her phone from her pocket as she swallowed another jolt of coffee.  
  
 **HM**  
 **LV U**  
 **M**  
  
Andy sighed and relaxed back into her chair. Wow. This was really happening. Miranda was happening. To her. She smirked. Fucking wow.  
  
She didn’t hesitate, just dialed the number and heard a very cool “Hello?”  
  
She whispered, “Hello? How are you, buddy?”  
  
Andy heard a tone of mischief in Miranda’s voice. “Buddy. My goodness. How very discreet of you. But you didn’t call for your buddy. Did you want me for some reason?”  
  
“God yes. For every reason, all reasons.”  
  
Miranda voice was approving, “Then, hello my love.”  
  
Andy cast a furtive eye over the newsroom and saw no one interested in her conversation. Okay. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”  
  
“I’m fine—Wanda’s situated and Magdalena’s making lunch. I’m about to take a nap and wishing you were here in bed with me.”  
  
Andy sighed, “Don’t say that when you know I wish I….”  
  
As Miranda interrupted, her voice was quiet and husky, “You wish? No, I wish. I wish you were here, my darling, and do you know what we’d be doing if you were?”  
  
Andy shot another apprehensive eye around her, “No—tell me.”  
  
“We’d be making love.”  
  
Andy’s hand trembled as she closed her eyes. “W…would we?”  
  
“Yes. Because you left me, through no fault of your own, very on edge last night. And I didn’t touch myself because I wanted your touch. Only your touch.”  
  
Andy swallowed, hard. “Oh.”  
  
“Yes. Oh. You’re at your desk, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Surrounded by coworkers.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Coworkers who don’t know Miranda Priestly is going to fuck you senseless at the first opportunity she gets.”  
  
Andy opened her eyes, coughed and took a sip of coffee. “No. I mean yes, that’s true.”  
  
“Do you want me to?”  
  
“You know I do. More than anything.”  
  
“Andrea?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Are you as wet as I am right now?”  
  
Andy whispered, “If it’s hard to believe how much, yes.”  
  
“Are you going to take care of me, Andrea? Of how wet you’re making me? Do you want to?”  
  
Andy knew she was blushing and ignored the rest of the room as she tried to keep her voice even, “Yes. Of course I do. Of course I will.”  
  
“How? I think I’ll need your mouth. Will you use your mouth?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about nothing but doing that for hours.”  
  
“Really? You’ve been thinking about my pussy? Your mouth and my pussy?”  
  
“Yes. Absolutely.”  
  
“You may drown.”  
  
“If I do, lucky me.”  
  
“No, lucky me.”  
  
“Can I see you tonight?” Andy crossed her fingers.  
  
“The girls and John will be here so we’ll have to behave but I’d love that.”  
  
“I could be there about seven?”  
  
“Seven will be fine. I love you, Andrea.”  
  
Andy coughed again, then laughed with elaborate casualness, “And you know how I feel.”  
  
“I do. And Andrea?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Don’t you dare touch yourself—anywhere. You’re mine.”  
  
Miranda had read her mind. Andy had been thinking about taking a quick trip to the bathroom to let off a little steam. She ran a hand through her hair, “Alright. But I expect the same courtesy from you.”  
  
“As I told you, I gave you that courtesy last night but it’s a deal.”  
  
“Deal. See you at seven. Can’t wait.”  
  
When Andy clapped her phone shut, she laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of a few coworkers. She waved them off but sat and mused at the fact that Miranda Priestly loved her and wanted her. How lucky was that? She looked up at the ceiling and crossed herself. “Thank you.”  
  


* * *

  
Minutes later, Andy’s cell rang and, as she grabbed it, she smiled, “ _Mirror_ —Andy Sachs.”  
  
“You know it’s me.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“I’m calling to tell you that….”  
  
Miranda paused so long and the phone was so silent that Andy felt the need to ask, “You still there?”  
  
“Yes, of course I am. I did tell you that I enjoy talking rather frankly, did I not?”  
  
“Uh huh. And I like it. A lot. _A lot_.”  
  
“Yes….well, be that as it may, I was calling to tell you that I’m perfectly capable of having a civilized discussion with you without interjecting sex into it every time.”  
  
Andy grinned into her monitor, “I’m perfectly aware of that, as well. I was thinking about you, too. I just wanted to remind you that when I help out the way I said I would earlier….”  
  
“Hmmm? Ah yes. With your mouth?”  
  
“Yep. Just remember that I’ve never…” she lowered her voice, “never done that before. I mean, I’m so… _way_ beyond willing but I’m probably bound to make some rookie mistakes.”  
  
Andy could almost hear a smile in the silence before Miranda said, “Andrea?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m absolutely sure that any spirited effort on your part in that regard will pay off very, very quickly.”  
  
Andy cackled, “You got it then, chief—one spirited effort coming up.”  
  
“Not one, my darling—just the first of what I hope are many and mutual. And I’ll be the one who’s coming just feeling and knowing it’s your touching me that way.”  
  
It was everything Andy could do not to groan and she heard Miranda sniff before she said, “This has devolved yet again into sex talk, Andrea.”  
  
“I know it has but it was my fault this time.”  
  
“I’m glad you recognize that.”  
  
“I do—please get some rest.”  
  
“I will. I love you.”  
  
“Not like I do you.”  
  
“ _Do me_ , Andrea? See? You’re incorrigible. And we will see.”  
  
“That we will.”  
  
As Miranda snapped her phone shut, she rolled her eyes. She’d told the girl yet again that she loved her, which seemed to be some new Andrea-related Tourette’s-like symptom she was incapable of quelling or denying. And she’d entirely invalidated her own point in making the call in the first place. As she sighed and hugged a pillow closer she found, yet again, where her Andy was concerned, she did not care. She would submit to inanity.

* * *

Emily was as happy as she could possibly be around lunchtime on a Monday. Miranda was at home, thank God, and the enormous bouquet of flowers on her desk was nearly obscuring her vision of the desk the new Emily would eventually be taking.  
  
Miranda’s flowers had, admittedly, sent her into fantods when she’d seen the note thanking her. Even as she’d read the note, she realized it was definitely odd to be insanely glad not to have someone in the office and yet insanely glad for that very person’s attention.  
  
When Serena finally worked her way toward her desk, Emily blushed deeply, because of the flowers and because of the kiss they’d shared the night before.  
  
“Nice flowers, English.”  
  
“Yes. They’re from Miranda.”  
  
“La Priestly? Really? Because?”  
  
“Because I saved her life, the note said.”  
  
Serena smelled a few of the blossoms, “Our employer has good taste.” She smiled rakishly, “In flowers and personal assistants.”  
  
Emily didn’t know what to do except blush more deeply.  
  
“Dinner—soon, English?”  
  
“Name the time.”  
  
“Tonight? Seven?”  
  
“Yes to dinner. Yes, actually, to anything at this point.”  
  
Serena laughed and tapped Emily’s desk. “I promise I’ll make you happy you were bold enough to say so to me.”  
  
“I’ll hold you to that promise.”  
  
“More and more bold. Just as I like you,” Serena said, winking as she left.  
  
“Mother of God,” Emily said as she turned to her monitor and told it, “I love my job.” An appreciative Miranda and a sexually suggestive Serena. Things were definitely trending upward.

* * *

Doug called right after lunch and when Andy saw the caller ID she, she automatically lowered her voice. “Hello.”  
  
“And? Can you talk?”  
  
“Yeah. Just for a second.”  
  
“Ssup?”  
  
“Love. Life. Everything.”  
  
“No kidding? So Miranda’s still on board?”  
  
“We both are. Entirely.”  
  
“No shit? Man, that’s _wild_.”  
  
“Yeah—just a bit hard to hold it together in the office today.”  
  
“Naturally. I’ll let you go—call me when you get a chance.”  
  
“You’ll be the first. Love you, Doug.”  
  
“Love you too, babe.”  
  
As she hung up, she quickly realized she’d spoken more loudly than she’d intended. Alicia, who sat directly across from her, said “Now we have a name. Doug, huh? That your new stud?”  Andy almost sprayed coffee on her keyboard.

* * *

What had she been thinking? Miranda smiled at her children and ex-husband as the girls continued to relate the details of their days away from her. They were sitting in the den and had eaten an early dinner. Magdalena had gone home and Wanda was upstairs.  Years in hostile boardrooms had made her preternaturally skilled at listening and reacting appropriately, all the while thinking her own thoughts irrespective of what was being said.  
  
 _What had she been thinking to invite Andrea, for whom she was feeling a nearly frantic carnal desire, into this sweet domesticity?_ Miranda smiled again. No. _What was she thinking, knowing that she already, decidedly and entirely prematurely wanted the woman to be part of her life forever? Was she going through a mid-life crisis? Was she out of her mind?_ She glanced at her watch. Where was she, anyway?  
  
When the doorbell rang five minutes later, the girls jumped a bit and Cassidy asked, “Who’s that, Mom? Another reporter?”  
  
“No—I believe that will be Andrea. She said she might stop by.”  
  
John leapt up and, after a few moments, brought a shy Andy into the room. “Look who I found.”  
  
Andy waved at the girls, “Hi Caroline, Cassidy,” she said in correct order, which impressed them deeply yet again. She crossed to kiss Miranda chastely on the cheek and knew, immediately, that this was a bad idea. Miranda was blushing and she was, too and what could she do except…  
  
“Take a seat,” John said. So she did.  
  
Andy was dying. “How are you feeling, Miranda?” That sounded okay, right? Miranda’s eyes were scorching into hers and she knew hers must be blistering Miranda, too.  
  
“Wonderfully well. The girls were just telling me about what’s been going on.”  
  
“Oh, cool. Well, I don’t want to hold you guys up—just wanted to see you, check in on you.”  
  
“Can you stay?”  
  
“Nah—just a few minutes. I have to finish an article but I’m glad you have everybody you need around you.” She stood and crossed again to Miranda’s chair. “I knew you’d have enough flowers in the house for your homecoming so I just thought I’d give you a picture of a flower instead.”  
  
Andy reached into her bag and pulled out a small framed picture of a very fragile purple flower growing between the seams of two pieces of gray New York sidewalk. “I took the picture outside the hospital. Who knows why it bloomed so late—but things bloom where they will, don’t they? I was impressed.”  
  
Miranda smiled into the picture, then up at Andy and said, “I’m impressed, as well. Beautiful things do bloom when and where they will and aren’t we fortunate they do?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
As John watched this exchange, his ex-wife looked at this woman as he’d never seen her look at a person in her life, including him. Total, wanton desire. And the girl was doing everything but throwing herself at his ex-wife’s feet in front of them. Action was in order. “Girls, let’s go out and get ice cream and let Andy and your mom visit.”  
  
The twins squealed for a few seconds as they heartily assented to his idea.  
  
John asked, as he pulled the twins from the room, “Would you like anything?”  
  
Miranda smiled, never taking her eyes from Andy’s, “I think we’re fine.”  
  
“I thought you might be. Maybe an hour, Mir. Okay?”  
  
Miranda was surprised by his tone but was jolted when she turned to him and saw only understanding and compassion in his eyes.  _He knew_.  She nodded. “Thank you, John.”  
  
“No problem. Take care of her, Andy.”  
  
“Always.”  
  
As John took their children to the ice cream shop, he was powerfully moved by the idea that his Miranda could expose herself so completely, and so very obviously, to a woman. And, perhaps, this exposure was obvious only to him. They knew each other so well. Miranda left nothing undone, nothing to chance, nothing exposed.  
  
He knew this because their marriage had changed her from Miranda Davies into Miranda Priestly. He’d given her, and she’d taken that surname so happily years ago, never knowing how it quickly it would become iconic and how very quickly becoming _‘Miranda Priestly’_ would come between them. That Miranda Priestly—the Miranda Priestly of _Runway_ was not the woman he’d married.  
  
He always loved her, although he could not be married to her. And he’d been the first to act on that realization. When Miranda had discovered his infidelity with Cecelia, she’d been incandescent with rage and she’d divorced him, although the twins had been only three years of age. It had taken very little time to decide the best joint custody agreement for their children. Even then, Miranda had understood and admitted that she had had a mistress in _Runway_ as well. Cecelia and _Runway_ had come between them and they’d both chosen their ruling passions. He did not regret this but, in his heart of hearts, Miranda was still the very dearest love of his life, a bit of information he would never, ever tell her or Cecelia.  
  
As the twins chose their ice cream flavors, he sincerely hoped Miranda was moving toward happiness.

* * *

Miranda was not happy. She was ecstatic. As soon as John and the children had left, she had Andy’s molten lips upon hers, searching and tasting. Andy jumped onto the couch and pulled her into her warm, sweet arms and kissed her in a way she’d never experienced. This was adventure—and discovery and depth.  
  
Miranda pulled away and gasped in what she knew was a sudden question, “Are you sure this is what you really want?”  
  
Andy laughed and said, “If you don’t want me now, you’re going to be so out of luck. I’ll be on your doorstep whining like a puppy every day.”  
  
“Don’t be silly. More kisses, you little ape.”  
  
Andy laughingly complied and after many kisses, Miranda pulled away and simply looked into Andy’s eyes as she gently stroked her face. “I wish it could be tonight, my love.”  
  
“I do, too.”  
  
“Soon. John knows.”  
  
“You told him?”  
  
“No—but you noticed the sudden ice cream decampment? He’s very astute.”  
  
Andy winced as she ran her fingers through Miranda’s hair, “I’m sorry. I knew it’d be obvious the minute I walked in…I’m really sorry.”  
  
Miranda kissed Andy on the forehead and on both cheeks, “I’m not. We’ll be as discreet as we can and take things as they come.”  
  
“So I can’t scream that I’m in love to Manhattan?”  
  
“No. Your first screaming about this issue will happen in our bed.”  
  
“Damn, Miranda. Speaking of incorrigible.”  
  
“I know. Kiss me again and tell me about your day.”  
  
Much to Andy’s surprise, after another smoldering kiss, she did—and Miranda listened attentively. When Andy briefly mentioned some of her career plans, Miranda gave her feedback and advice as she ran one hand through Andy’s hair. Andy decided she’d died and gone to heaven. Miranda Priestly kissed her and listened to her and really cared and life could not possibly be this amazing.

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

Andy had left, after much talking and more loving kissing and Miranda was bereft. She despised Andy’s having to leave her for even minutes, much less a night and a day or quite possibly even longer. How could she justify to her children this woman’s presence in their home every day without telling them something she didn’t feel it fair to tell them? Stephen was only four months gone from their lives and how much more tumult were they supposed to withstand because she’d been wrong and now felt, more surely than she ever had been, that she was absolutely right? Finally. And with a woman half her age?  
  
She was jarred from her thoughts by a triumphant arrival of twins and her ex with a small container.  
  
“It’s lemon sorbet, mom, with a bit of raspberry sorbet on top. Dad said you’d like it.”  
  
Taking the container and spoon from Cassidy’s hand, she opened it, “Your father knows me very well.” She took a mouthful and closed her eyes, “That’s perfect—delicious. Thank you girls; thank you John.” Her thanks to John were based on more than sorbet and she nodded to him, which he silently acknowledged.  
  
“Hey, girls, why don’t you go up and get ready for bed. Your mom and I would like to talk.”  
  
The tone in their father’s voice told the twins this was not a request so they quickly kissed him and their mother and left.  
  
A full minute went by, as Miranda ate her sorbet, before John said, “So. Andy.”  
  
Miranda found it ridiculous, and yet not, that saying the words to someone beside Andy made her pulse race. “Yes. Andrea.”  
  
John sighed, then began to pace, “Please note a couple of things. I’m not asking why a woman. I’m not asking about her age. But it does seem awfully sudden. I’m only asking if you think this is serious, Miranda? Or is she a passing interest and something that you’ll live to regret, like Stephen?”  
  
She started to speak, slightly offended, and he waved a hand to stop her, “You’ve been miserable since your divorce, more miserable than I’ve ever seen you. Are you sure you’re not—forget it. I’m not going to insult you by saying rebound. Do you really feel strongly about her, Mir? Strongly enough for what you know we’ll all go through if it’s made public? You know—you _know_ I want you to be happy. Tell me she’s worthy and makes you happy and that you believe in it and I’m behind you 100%.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath, reminding herself that John was raising understandable concerns that even she had and, yet, was trying to be supportive. Why not tell him, her dearest friend of so many years, the truth? She smiled dolefully. “Thank you John. I can always trust you to give me a mental health check.”   
  
He grinned at her, because this was her term for every figurative and literal ‘what the fuck?’ he’d ever said to Miranda in their lives, the frequency of which was uncountable even during the first year of their marriage.  
  
“The day after Stephen told me he wanted a divorce, Andrea left me in Paris. And you’re right—I have been desolate for four months. I knew it wasn’t Stephen who was causing me such pain because he was no great loss, as you’re well aware. But I didn’t know until I saw Andrea again that what I was missing all these months was her. I didn’t know it or expect it but it’s true. I love her, John.  Desperately and unreasonably. Utterly unreasonably. I can scarcely breathe or think around her. I can’t help myself and, frankly, I don’t want to.”     
  
John had nothing to say. He was completely stunned.  
  
“And I know this seems out of character for me but I think perhaps, instead, this is actually absolutely in character for me and I just never knew it until now.”  
  
He sat down with a thump. “Wow. She feels the same way? And you trust her?”  
  
“Yes. She does and I do.”  
  
They stared at each other for a few long moments. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Miranda. I don’t think love is supposed to be as reasonable and regimented as ours was or yours and Stephen’s was, do you?”   
  
Miranda heard the melancholy in his voice. “I have no idea. Maybe not. But if we’d been reasonable, we wouldn’t have our beautiful children and wouldn’t still have each other after all these years. That would be an enormous loss to me, John.” She smirked, “I wouldn’t trade your friendship even for _Runway_ at this point.”  
  
John grinned again, “Now that’s saying something. Let’s get you upstairs, beautiful.”  
  
“I can walk.”  
  
“You can, but I’ll help. I’ll lock the door on my way out and you can set the alarm from your room.”  
  
“If you insist.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
As she took his hand, he pulled her up and into a very gentle hug. For a few seconds, she rested her head on his shoulder and relaxed into the scent that was partly cologne, partly shirt-starchiness and, mostly, ineffably John. A familiar and good and still happy smell.  
  
She smiled up at him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, John. I’m not easy to live with—or without, it seems.”  
  
He let her take his arm, “Do you think it’s normal to be as equally glad to have been married to a woman as to be divorced from her?”  
  
“Probably not. But I am a trendsetter, after all, am I not?”  
  
He sighed as he answered, “That you are.”

* * *

Serena had just taken her to dinner, a sashimi dinner at a place close enough for them to walk to and from Emily’s apartment. They’d had a wonderful date but later, as the fact they were alone in Emily’s apartment truly registered, the Englishwoman felt breathless with anxiety. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to _do_ …a woman. She was surely going to be a disappointment and then Serena would…but then Serena simply kissed her. Such a relaxed and lovely kiss.   
  
As they parted, Serena smiled, serenely and confidently, “No worries, Emily. We’re on our own time now. Just enjoy.” Serena moved forward and pushed Emily back onto the couch, so that they were lying side by side, then began to kiss her again.  
  
Right. Enjoy. Emily was, actually, enjoying the kiss. She’d never done this full ‘make-out’ thing with a woman and particularly with a woman who was perfect, the absolute apotheosis of everything she wanted to be physically. As she tentatively ran her hand over Serena’s neck and back she wasn’t surprised to find the woman so small and angular but this fact struck her forcefully in juxtaposition with the…solidity…the ‘there-ness’ of the well-muscled men she’d slept with. Maybe that’s what men meant when they said they liked women with curves, with a bit of…  
  
Emily’s train of thought was broken as Serena pulled away and asked with a wicked smile, “What are you thinking?”  
  
“Hmmm, nothing—you’re a great kisser.”  She was the worst liar in the world.  
  
Serena smiled again and kissed Emily’s chin. “I believe that I am a great kisser. But that is only part of what you were thinking. I believe you may have been considering that it is odd to touch someone who is so bony, correct?”  
  
The even greater flush in Emily’s face made Serena laugh and she propped her head in one hand as she traced Emily’s face with her fingers, “You are not the first, my dear. I told you, though you will have a hard time believing it, I am the person who is abnormal. At Runway, women are clothes hangers. Clothes hangers are skeletal and wooden or wire or plastic. But women—and men—have a body and flesh.”  
  
“But… _couture_ is meant for a model’s body, for your body.”  
  
“Who told you that?”  
  
Emily stared as she considered this, “Well…. _Runway_ , of course.”  
  
Serena smiled, “Exactly. We are both feeding the snake that is swallowing you and so many other women. Never forget, English, I love _Runway_ for the artistry of it, not for the bodies that carry it. That’s another reason I am not one of those bodies.”  
  
“But, surely—“  
  
“But surely, you can acknowledge,” Serena murmured as she ran her hand lightly over Emily’s shoulders, ‘that the gentle curve of your shoulders.” She paused and Emily closed her eyes as the other woman slowly ran down her body with her soft words and hand, “the delicious curve of your breasts…the tiniest swell of your stomach, the slight generosity of your hips…and especially your incredibly sexy woman’s thighs…you must know you would make any man or woman inclined to want a real woman…truly want you so much as to be able to taste it. Surely someone must have told you so.”  
  
Emily tilted her head, as flabbergasted as she’d ever been in her life. This…person…was on another level altogether. She’d had lovers, of course, who desired her fully enough to have sex with her. But no. No one, anyone, had ever told her she was desirable for the very reasons she believed she was not. She looked at Serena with wonder. “My God. Who are you? What are you?”  
  
“Serena. Your Brazilian girlfriend.”  
  
“Yes. Right. So you are.” Emily threw her arms around her bony, beautiful Brazilian girlfriend and kissed her with a passion she’d never felt for anyone in her life. A passion that quickly inspired her to nervously kiss her way down the woman’s neck and over the curve of her collarbone, an activity that was acceptable, given the delightful sounds that Serena was making. She had no idea she’d worked her way over a concave stomach toward the woman’s breast until she’d closed one hand over it, which made Serena gasp and whimper something in Portuguese that Emily was virtually certain was positive.  
  
She returned to Serana’s mouth as she caressed the small breast and circled the hard nipple, and wondered why she’d never known that it could be just as exciting to do this to a breast as to have it done. She also wondered how it was that she’d straddled one of Serena’s thighs without actually intending to do so and was grinding away to—  
  
“Stop.”  
  
Emily vaguely registered that she was no longer kissing or being kissed but exactly who had said—?  
  
“Stop,” Serena whispered as she gently stilled Emily’s hips and covered the hand on her breast. “We must stop. That’s enough.”  
  
The Englishwoman blinked her eyes, and croaked, “Enough? That’s not nearly enough.”  
  
She leaned in for another kiss, which Serena skillfully avoided, “No. Emily. No.”  
  
Emily thought for two seconds and immediately sat up, flushed, confused, overwhelmed and embarrassed. There could be only one explanation. “As you wish. I thought I was pleasing you but evidently I’m hopeless at this, as well—which is actually typical of me, so if you’ll just see yourself to the—”   
  
Before she could leap up, Serena put her arms around her and kissed her throat before saying, “English. You are sensational at this and that is why we must stop.”  
  
Horrified by the fact that she was beginning to sniffle, Emily asked, “What does that mean, exactly. Why? If I’m doing it right, why stop?”  
  
“Because we should go more slowly, Emily. You told me you’ve never had a woman lover, correct?”  
  
Emily was frankly crying now so she just shook her head. She felt soft hands wipe her tears and then Serena kissed her cheeks tenderly. “I was not joking when I said I will keep you as a friend before all else. I do not want us to get caught up in our enjoyment and then for me to go home and find you regret it tomorrow.”  
  
“I wouldn’t.”  
  
“No. You won’t because I won’t let you—or us. We can save our enjoyment for later. Do you greatly mind this delay?”  
  
Emily wiped her face with her hands and looked into Serena’s tremendously loving, affectionate, concerned eyes and melted. “I do greatly mind it but I live with tremendous professional frustration daily. Why should my girlfriend be any different?”  
  
“Yes. I like to be your girlfriend. I am and I will be more fully and completely. Soon, I promise.”

* * *

Miranda was in bed when Andy called. “Hi, sweetheart—everything okay?”  
  
“Yes. John had some questions but was generally supportive. If I’m on board, he is. He’s concerned about the girls, as am I.”  
  
“Yeah, me too. We probably need to cool it, don’t we?  
  
Miranda paused for a long while, “I don’t actually know that I want to or even can cool it, Andrea. I think I’m going to have to find a way to introduce you to the girls as someone I’ll be spending time with as soon as possible. I don’t want to overwhelm them but I do want them to get to know you—as my particular friend or girlfriend or whatever it is we’ll call each other.  
  
“Yes, what are you going to call me? Beside Andy, privately?”  
  
“We’ll see. I haven’t decided. Perhaps ball and chain if you persist.”  
  
“Awww. That’s sweet.”  
  
“I specialize in sweet. Ask anyone at _Runway_. I’ll think about the girls and let you know.”  
  
“Good. But remember, I really don’t want to add to making your kids uncomfortable or unhappy. I know they’ve had a rough time with Stephen and I’m fine with going as slowly as we need to.”  
  
“That’s why I have to give it some thought. If I went as slowly as I wanted, you’d be in bed with me right now.”  
  
Andy grinned. “Oh. Alright, and speaking of that topic, which you introduced I might add, I had a question or sort of maybe a comment.”  
  
“Sort of maybe? You’re nervous, aren’t you? You always lose your diction when you are. Let’s hear it.”  
  
Andy wanted to kick Miranda’s ass for this but, because it was true, and because there were other things on her mind, she decided to belay it.  
  
“Alright, smart-ass. If I don’t touch myself until we get together, I’m sort of afraid I’ll last maybe five seconds once we do. See what I mean? I’m dying here. And maybe I think you might feel the same? I want us to have…”  
  
“A nice long first time?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Hmm. That’s probably true. How do you suggest we redress this issue?”  
  
Andy shook her head. “Redress this issue? I want you to be fucking me out of my mind and you want to redress this issue?”  
  
“I’m sorry. I thought that word choice was entirely apposite.”  
  
“I’m going to kill you, Miranda. Don’t play vocabulary with me. I’ll win.”  
  
Miranda snickered, “You may play me to a draw, Andrea—you’d never win.”  
  
“I would.”  
  
“You wouldn’t. I was an editor and an English major before you were born.”  
  
“Ah yes. Regarding our former topic, do you think you’re suffering from hyperprosexia?”  
  
“I like our topic but I don’t suffer from that disorder. Don’t interject neuro-psychiatric terms into our conversation unless you want to lose. And, as for your losing point, I can focus on all sorts of things, the least of which being that you’re beginning to sound like a mammothrept, darling.”  
  
Andrea realized she was really out of her depth, “Fucking hell, Miranda! _Mammothrept_?! Hardly anybody knows that one!”  
  
“I told you not to fuck with me.”  
  
Andy laughed, “But that’s the problem—I want to fuck with you. Literally.”  
  
“And I do, as well, my darling. Tell me how I can help.”  
  
“May I touch myself?”  
  
“Of course, my love. I believe this is where I ask what you’re wearing.”  
  
There was a long pause. “Wait-a-minute. You want me to do it with you on the phone?”  
  
Miranda sniffed, “Of course I do. I want to hear you if I can’t see and feel and taste and smell you. You’re mine. No underwear—take it off.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
Miranda used her Runway voice. “Do I often ask for what I don’t want, Andrea?”  
  
Andy lock-stepped in her assistant response. “No, of course not, Miranda. Hold on a second.”  Moments later, “Okay—it’s off.”  
  
“On your bed?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are your nipples hard yet?”  
  
“Yes—I think it’s you and the room temperature.”  
  
“I don’t care. Touch them for me.”  
  
Miranda tugged off her skirt and underwear and sat on her bed.  “Are you ready, Andrea?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda. My nipples are aching for you—your touch, your mouth.”  
  
“Tug at them a little. I’m going to need to be rough with them.”  She heard Andy sigh, “I’m going to pull at them and bite them. Can I take you that way?”  
  
“Oh…yes. Please. If you want. As rough as you want.”  
  
“Pinch your left nipple hard for me.”  
  
“Ahh…”  
  
“Yes. Now your right.”  
  
“Oh my…oh Miranda.”  
  
“Yes, love. Are you wet?”  
  
“I am—very.”  
  
“I know you need this quickly so run your hand down your beautiful stomach down toward your…” Miranda’s voice was suddenly exceptionally firm, “I certainly hope you haven’t shaven yourself. Have you?”  
  
“N..no..just sort of groomed.” One question answered, Andy thought to herself.  
  
“Very well. Good. I want a woman and a woman has pubic hair. Only a child does not.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda. May I touch myself?”  
  
“Yes. Just run your fingers over the outside of your pussy. No playing in your wetness yet.”  
  
As she heard Andrea sigh, Miranda stretched out on her bed and began to stroke her own part of their equation. “Andrea?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m touching myself right now—just for you.”  
  
Andy sighed at the sound of the woman’s voice and words, “Are you—are you wet?”  
  
“You know I am—and I know you’d be surprised to find that my pubic hair is as white as the hair on my head.”  
  
For some reason, that single concrete detail, that dash of reality, made Andy throb more than anything else had ever before. “Really?”  
  
“Yes, really. You’ll see. Run your fingers through your wetness and imagine it’s mine.”  
  
“You will too?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“God, Miranda, it feels so good. You feel fantastic.”  
  
“You do, too. You’re so wet….”

* * *

It took them very little time before they enjoyed the sounds of each other’s climax.  As they finished, Andy and Miranda gasped into the phone for a few moments.   
  
“Thank you Miranda.”  
  
“No. Thank you, Andrea, but…” she admonished quietly, “Not without me. Ever. This is ours.”  
  
“Deal. Never without you. I’ve kept you up too late again. Sleep tight, sweetheart. I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, Andy. Lick your fingers clean before you go to bed.”  
  
Miranda heard Andy exhale sharply before responding, “Will you do it for me, too?”  
  
“Do you want me to?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Take a few seconds with me and we’ll do it together.”  
  
A few moments later, Miranda said, “You’re delicious.”  
  
“You are, too. I can’t wait.”  
  
“I can’t either. Sleep well, love.”  
  
“You, too.”  
  
Minutes later, in the solitude of their own beds, they thought the same thing. Entirely clothed hospital bathroom sex, partially clothed phone sex. They were on a roll.

* * *

“Miranda Priestly? What are you doing down here without your nurse?”  
  
“I’m perfectly capable of walking, Magdalena. Wanda supervised me as I dressed, you’ll be happy to hear. She’ll be down soon for some breakfast, as well.”  
  
Miranda and Magdalena had fought for more than a decade about the concept of a hearty breakfast. Miranda despised breakfast, which was why she invariably ate what little breakfast she did at the office and without a thought, except of course for the temperature of her coffee.  
  
“So. What do you want? Your papers are there. Coffee. Eggs as usual?”  
  
“Yes, and tomato juice, “ Miranda said as she reached for the Times.  
  
“The spicy or the plain?”  
  
“Spicy. Add a tiny shot of Worchester.”  
  
“Ah? Still? And recovering from the gunshot? You have the stomach of a wild boar.”  
  
“Thank you, Magdalena. You’re the very first to say so.”  
  
“Why do you not just let me buy you the Bloody Mary mix to drink in the morning?”  
  
“Because yours is better.”  
  
Magdalena glowered as she prepared the tomato juice, “You get nowhere through compliments, Miranda. You want none of the turkey bacon? Your children die without it.”  
  
“No, but thank you. I’ll live without but you may as well cook more. Perhaps Wanda might like some.”  
  
“If not—what? We waste?”  
  
“No, you make BLTs for the twins’ lunch tomorrow,” Miranda said virtuously.  
  
Magdalena snorted as she turned to her eggs and Miranda smiled into her paper. It was very rare that she could pull off a bit of household economy or wisdom with her house manager and such a thing was a bright spot in any day.  
  
As Magdalena cooked she asked, “So what is your plan, Miranda Priestly? From Wednesday, you will work here the rest of the week?”  
  
Miranda didn’t look up from her paper. “Yes, as I believe I told you.”  
  
“Ah ah ah. You did—but you did not think for their comfort. You never do. I need to make the lunch for more people?”  
  
“Excellent idea, Magdalena. That will save time. Make lunch for…ten from Wednesday through Friday.”  
  
The older woman waved her spatula, “See? What would you do without me?”  
  
“Evaporate or explode, I’m sure.”  
  
“You are so funny that you are killing me.”  
  
“I certainly hope not, Magdalena. At least not before you finish my eggs.”  
  
Miranda imagined, as the woman cooked her eggs, that the things she was saying in Spanish were quite dark indeed.

* * *

  
When Wanda came down minutes later, she shyly wished the two good morning.  
  
Miranda looked over her half glasses and spoke immediately, “Have anything you want, Wanda. We have cereal and bagels but Magdalena has made eggs and turkey bacon and there is toast, if you want. Coffee and juice. Make yourself at home.”  
  
Wanda looked between the woman now paying only vague attention to her and the Spanish woman paying full attention to her.  
  
“Oh, si. Hmmm. Magdalena? Have you eaten yet?”  
  
Good answer. Magdalena scoffed, “Eat? Can I eat until these Priestly locusts run through my kitchen?”  
  
Wanda nodded, “Perhaps you would like to eat with me?”  
  
Magdalena shot at look at Miranda, who appeared to be paying no attention. “Of course. We servants must take our meals when and where we can.”  
  
After they loaded their plates, Magdalena said, “Come—we’ll eat in the next room.”  
  
Miranda smirked into her paper and said in a wilting voice, “You’re both perfectly welcome to sit at this table and eat. I won’t understand a word of the terrible things you’re saying about me in Spanish.”  
  
Wanda’s jaw dropped, “I would never say such things about you!”  
  
Miranda smiled up at Wanda, “I know you wouldn’t, Wanda—but she would.”  
  
Magdalena snorted and only barked “Come Wanda, let’s get away from this crocodile.”  
  
As they left the room, they heard Miranda call after her “What’s that? Wild boar or crocodile, Magdalena?”  
  
An answer came from the hall, “You are an…unnatural combination of the two.”  
  
As they took their seats, Magdalena began to speak in Spanish.  
  
“Oh no. No no,” Wanda said quite firmly, “We must speak in the English. I would not for the world have Miranda think I would say something about her. English.”  
  
The older woman was surprised, and a bit impressed. Although Wanda seemed competent and very sweet and good, she hadn’t thought she’d encounter a backbone. “Very well.”  
  
They ate in silence as Wanda thought about their interaction. Finally, she said, “How long have you worked here?”  
  
“Thirteen years.”  
  
Wanda’s eyebrows jumped and she took a few more bites before saying, “You have a strange relationship with Miranda.”  
  
Magdalena waved a hand. “Ah yes. She’s strange—so the relationship is strange.”   
  
Although Wanda thought, in all truth, Magdalena was strange as well, she only said “But it seems you like her very much. I mean…you are devoted. Is that the word?”  
  
Magdalena shot the other woman a sharp glance and found only guileless curiosity. “I suppose it is a word. Perhaps. I don’t know. I work here because no one else will work here. And her children must have someone. And even she must have someone because no one else would put up with her.”  
  
Wanda nodded as she sipped her coffee, “I’m sure you are right but I know one person who does not put up with her. She likes her very much.”  
  
The older woman scoffed, “Who? Beside her children and John and me, who likes her?”  
  
“Ms. Andy. Andy.”  
  
“That girl? That girl on the news who used to work for her?”  
  
“Si.”  
  
Magdalena thought about this for a few seconds. “I spoke to her many times. I only saw her once. She was a second assistant—which means hell on this Earth. I know she stayed with her but how do you say she likes her?”  
  
“She stayed all the time, even over the nights, and made sure Miranda was doing well. She helped her with everything and did her therapy walks and even the nurses and doctors were liking her for this. I never saw Miranda smile or laugh except with Andy and she is like…” Wanda made a chomping motion with her hand, “the guard dog around Miranda. No one can touch her or hurt her with Andy there.”  
  
Magdalena thought about this and took a vicious bite of her turkey bacon.

* * *

Andy wore some of her more subdued Runway clothing to the office just to remind herself, as she joyfully walked into her entirely regular office and sat at her entirely regular desk, that she was having a supernova love affair.  
  
She sipped her coffee and booted up her computer.  Some of her coworkers had noticed her mood as she arrived. Reggie and Matthew, particularly, thought she looked really, really nice today.  
  
Indeed she did, clothes, attitude and all, Alicia thought. She looked over the small partition between them. “You sure look happy this morning. Get lucky with Doug last night?”  
  
Andy almost bit her cheek raw to keep from laughing. Alicia was petite and pretty and a fairly decent journalist but she was a competitive bitch and a real woman-hater. Andy had learned that very quickly so she only answered, “I had a great night. How was your evening, Alicia?”  
  
“Great,” she agreed, then sneered, “You’re certainly dressed up today. What’s that you’re wearing?”  
  
“Am I dressed up?” Andy looked down as if to remind herself what she was wearing and answered casually, “Zac Posen, Blahniks. You know—the usual stuff.”  
  
“Usual for whom?”  
  
Andy didn’t look up, “People with taste.” She winced even as she said it but she couldn’t help herself.  
  
“Said the girl from _Runway._ ”  
  
“Said the woman who worked many grueling hours at Ground Zero of international fashion,” she replied as she pulled up her email.  
  
“Which makes you what, Sachs?”  
  
Andy looked up and smiled sweetly “More knowledgeable than you will ever be on the subject, Alicia. That’s all.”  
  
As she turned to her email, she knew that had been bitchy but—fuck it—she was in love with Miranda Priestly. She knew Miranda would always care, truly care, about what she wore and, although she enjoyed appalling her former employer, she was woman enough to admit she enjoyed pleasing her, too. Not that she minded dressing. She loved wearing great clothes as long as she felt she could remember clothes weren’t the be-all/end-all of her existence. She could be herself but she wanted her lover’s good opinion and would dress for it when the occasion demanded. At the word lover, appended to Miranda, she felt butterflies in her stomach. What was she? 12?  
  
Still, she felt bad about being a bitch and, after all, the woman was a colleague and she should be the bigger person. “Alicia? Look, I’m sorry if my tone wasn’t the greatest but you were coming at me all hard about my clothes. I still have some nice clothes from my old job.  Why shouldn’t I wear them?”  
  
“Alright. I’ll grant you that, Sachs. You’re right. They’re yours. You should wear them—wear them out since you sure can’t afford ‘em now.”  
  
“Yeah. No shit,” Andy agreed, even as she wondered what Alicia would think of The Closet, where affording anything was entirely beside the point.  
  
The rest of the morning was relatively pleasant, considering.

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

The noon sun illuminated her study as Miranda rang off with Emily for what seemed like the four thousandth time that day. Honestly, was there no one at Runway capable of independent thought? That Dr. Allen woman’s words popped into her head. Did this make her a bad manager that her staff couldn’t do without her?  
  
She thought about it for three seconds and snorted. No. Of course not. Not that she didn’t realize that it was considered a bad business model to have nearly the entirety of the most important assets of a multi-billion dollar franchise leave the building when she and Nigel went home. But that was true of any large artistic enterprise.  
  
Thinking of Nigel, she sighed and dialed.  
  
“Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“Could you please tell Emily to stop harassing me? Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I’m not working today.”  
  
Nigel knew Miranda well enough to have three thoughts immediately come to mind. One. Miranda had been pleased to be harassed. Two. She wanted Nigel to know that Emily, despite everything, had called her—not him—to resolve issues. Three. While that was all very charming, she was ready for him to take over. The conclusion he was supposed to draw was that she trusted him but only she was truly indispensable. Typical.  
  
He smiled into the phone. “Of course, Miranda. 8AM good for you tomorrow?  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then we’ll see you tomorrow. No more phone calls from here.”  
  
“Good—but if you need anything, I—“  
  
“We won’t,” he interrupted firmly, smiling more broadly because he knew this would irritate her.  
  
He heard her sniff. “Well. Yes.”  
  
As the phone went dead, he shook his head.  What a dame.

* * *

Andy had been invited to lunch with her coworkers Matthew and Reggie.  Reggie was not just young—he was boyish, with red hair and freckles. She hoped he would grow into and assume his given name of Reginald in later life, since ‘Reggie’ combined with his looks consigned him to the ‘little brother’ category of men she was sure he couldn’t be fond of.  
  
Matthew was a tall and extremely handsome African-American man with arresting green eyes who’d just started working for the Mirror weeks ago. Andy had had her eye on him before she’d made that fateful trip to the hospital. And now she sort of regretted that he obviously knew she’d been eyeing him. This was the first time they’d be by themselves, but with a chaperone, so to speak. But oh well. Now better than later.  
  
Reggie was oblivious in many ways, which was a good thing, Andy decided as they slid into opposite sides of a booth at a Korean buffet.  He didn’t notice that Matthew was chatting Andy up and didn’t care, thank God.  
  
As they talked, Andy realized that Matthew was more charming, charismatic, handsome and intelligent than Nate or Christian and that she would have been green-lighting him big time if she weren’t already in love.  
  
Never one for delicacy, Reggie tied into a dumpling and asked, “So, Andy—Alicia says you’re dating some guy named Doug.”  
  
Andy coughed a bit and swallowed her food. “She’s half right. I’m dating someone but it’s not Doug.” She smiled at both of them, “But please don’t tell her—I like the misdirection.”  
  
Reggie grinned at this—he hated Alicia.  
  
“Been dating very long?” Matthew’s question was a legitimate one since she’d been giving him sheep-eyes.  
  
“No—not at all. Quite recently, in fact. But I knew this person as a…friend for a long time before and we just reconnected and realized we should give it a shot.”  
  
Matthew took a bite of his food and looked into Andy’s eyes with a meaning Reggie didn’t see or hear, “Are you sure?”   
  
Andy smiled tenderly but with no regret. “Oh yeah. Completely. Utterly.”  
  
Matthew nodded his head, gently conceding. “Someone’s a lucky man.”  
  
“Believe me, there’s no lucky man involved. I’m the lucky woman.”

* * *

After lunch, Andy settled into writing her latest article when her phone rang.  
  
She saw who was calling but still answered, “Mirror, Sachs.”  
  
“What are you wearing?”  
  
Andy chuckled, “Nice one. Ummm. Posen. Blahniks.”  
  
“Don’t tease me.”  
  
“I’m not. Seriously. I am.”  
  
“Then you’re seriously teasing me.”  
  
“And how can I help you?”  
  
“You can come to lunch tomorrow. I think I need to have dinner with the girls alone tonight to make them feel everything’s back to normal.”  
  
“Lunch tomorrow it is. That’d be great. I could handle that.”  
  
“Could you handle seared scallops on a warm bed of field greens with a citrus dressing?”  
  
“I could handle it with two forks. And I will, if you know me.”  
  
“Unfortunately, I do. 12:30?”  
  
“12:30 it is but I’ll still call you tonight.”  
  
The young woman heard Miranda exhale as she replied, “Yes, call tonight but nothing like last night.”  
  
Something in Miranda’s voice made Andy’s heart sink as she asked, “You didn’t like it?”  
  
“Of course I did…but I just don’t want you to…I suppose I mean that I find myself, in the coolness of day, having mixed feelings about it. I don’t want you to think I’m cheapening our relationship into just sex. Or phone sex or…whatever. I miss you and want to make love with you. That was my point.”  
  
Andy’s heart was warmed by the hesitation in Miranda’s voice and snickered, “You lose your diction when you’re nervous.”  
  
“Oh for God’s…shut up.”  
  
Andy smiled, “Just teasing. You make a good point and it’s my point, as well, but I didn’t think that last night at all. Not at all. …” Andrea could feel Alicia’s ears in this conversation. “I’m just glad we enjoy the same flavor of ice cream. If not, we’d have had a fight on our hands.”  
  
Miranda picked up on this right away, “Someone listening?”  
  
“Oh yeah.”  
  
“I love you, Andrea.”  
  
Andy grinned as she began to type and answered nonchalantly, “Really? Me, too. Totally.”  
  
Miranda cleared her throat, “Then a call tonight…and tomorrow?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Take care.”  
  
“You, too.”  
  
It took all of two seconds before Alicia sniped, “Dougie’s whipped if he calls you this much.”  
  
“No one’s whipped,” Andy said, laughing and realizing she was entirely whipped as she jumped up to ask Mike if she could have an hour and a half lunch the next day if she showed up early.

* * *

At the end of the day, Wanda reported to leave, much to Miranda’s displeasure. She didn’t need a nurse but she did like having Wanda around.  
  
“You are doing very well, Miranda. Your wounds are healing and you have the bandages on that will come off when it is time. You can wash and tend yourself without worry. But I would take your temperature twice a day for the rest of the week, finish your antibiotics and follow the care sheet I am leaving with you.”  
  
“Thank you, Wanda. I would prefer to pay you cash, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“Oh no. It is too much money not to pay the taxes on. I am a legal citizen—I will pay.”  
  
“Very well. My accountant will send you a check and 1099 you.”  
  
“Si. Very good. Thank you for letting me stay in your beautiful house—you have a very pretty life, I think.”  
  
Miranda looked into Wanda’s beautiful and sweet face, “I think I do, too, Wanda. When you have a shock like this, you realize that.”  
  
“Si. I have seen it so many times.”  
  
“I’ll talk to Dalton and my lawyer this week and then we can set up a time for Juan Carlo to visit. Did you tell him of our plans?”  
  
“Oh, si. His papa and I told him and he was very excited. He was sad not to go to school with his little friends but very excited because he likes to study so much. He knows this is a blessing on him.”  
  
“Very well. I’ll call you and you can both visit Elias Clarke. I’ll show him why I’m called the Dragon Lady.”  
  
Wanda giggled, then replied, “If people believe you are a dragon, they need glasses, I think.”  
  
Miranda smiled. “Oh, no. You’ll get an eyeful of dragon, Wanda—and just for him.”  
  
They shook hands and Miranda air kissed her cheeks. “It’s lovely to make a new friend.”  
  
“Si, Ms. M—Miranda. It is.”As Andy walked up the stairs to Miranda’s townhouse the next day, she thought about their remarkably lengthy and sweet phone call the night before. They’d talked about their work, about conducting Runway for three days from Miranda’s home and some dumb stuff about mostly nothing and that made her feel like they were really friends, which consequently made her feel more in love than ever. She doubted most people would believe that Miranda could talk about just plain stuff. But she could and was remarkably good at it although her opinions were an odd mixture of the predictable and the highly unpredictable. Like the woman.  
  
At 12.15.  Emily answered the door in a state of high dudgeon, took one look at the visitor and huffed, “Right. I’m obviously officially in charge of hell today.” She allowed Andy in even as she spoke quietly, “You will have to beg for your job back on another day—she has a luncheon appointment.”  
  
Andy smiled and said, “Hi Emily. Nice to see you, too. Just so you know, I wouldn’t take my old job back if she offered it on a platinum platter but actually, I am lunch—I mean, I’m having lunch with Miranda.”  
  
Emily swallowed her initial response, which was profane. “Oh, wonderful. Now you two are best friends forever. Fine. Better you than I.” She tapped her well-shod foot and spoke quietly so that the other Runway employees rushing about through the home wouldn’t hear her. “She is a complete Gorgon today. Complete. And you would _think_ that would be a rather self-limiting proposition. After all, when every one of your minions has been turned to stone, what’s left to do? I’ll tell you what—she expects your stony arses to get busy and then she just turns you to stone again the next time she sees you. Let me show you up, lunch girl.”  
  
As they walked toward Miranda’s study, the woman herself stepped out and said with flinty eyes and in her coolest tone, “Andrea, I said 12:30.”  
  
Fuck, Andy thought, Emily wasn’t kidding. She looked at her watch, “It’s 12:20…oops…which means I’m five minutes late.”  
  
“I’m pleased you still remember the basics.  Emily—tell Magdalena to bring our lunch. Call Demarchelier and tell him no. No. I will not have a giraffe in that piece. A giraffe is the most striking animal on Earth but where would the models be? Under its legs? And how would that work? Are there stunt giraffes I’m unaware of? No. I will not have models hanging onto a giraffe’s legs like they’re particularly exotic stripper poles. Not only is it absurd, it’s insulting to the giraffe. My lunch will be a full 40 minutes. Don’t disturb it.”  
  
“Of course not, Miranda.”  
  
“And Emily?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“Take 40 minutes for lunch, as well. Magdalena’s catering.”  
  
Emily had no idea what to think about or even do with 40 minutes for lunch so she just said, “Of course, Miranda.”  
  
When Emily turned, Miranda pulled Andy into her study, and the young woman didn’t really know what to expect when the woman closed the door but was pleased to be kissed and kissed until her head was swimming.  
  
Andy grinned as Miranda stepped away, “Oh. Wow. Miss me?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes softened a bit, “Don’t make me happy when I’m angry.”  
  
“I’m sorry. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  
  
Miranda pulled two layouts from her desk and slapped them on a table that had obviously been brought in for her work from home. “Only everything—this is just an example.”  
  
Andy looked them over and winced.  
  
“See? When even you—with your deplorable eye—know they’re—“  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Am I wrong?”  
  
“No. As usual, you’re completely right.”  
  
Miranda reached forward and casually rubbed her finger under Andy’s bottom lip, “I smeared your lipstick…there. Now you’re presentable.” She winked just as Magdalena knocked and entered with a tray, followed by Emily with the other. Miranda cleared the table and the two women set the trays down.  
  
The looks Magdalena and Emily gave Andrea were not entirely un-Gorgon-like, themselves, Andrea thought. Boy, were they pissed. Emily she expected, Magdalena, not so much. She’d have to ask Miranda about that sometime.  
  
As she and Miranda ate their delicious meal they talked, primarily, about Andy’s work on a new series of articles concerning prostitution and the illegal aliens being compelled into it. During a lull in the conversation, Andy felt curious enough to ask. “You really like giraffes, huh?”  
  
“Well, that was certainly a non sequitur. Why do you ask?”  
  
“Because you said that photo shoot would insult the giraffe. I’ve never heard you say that before and we used animals lots of times.”  
  
Miranda blinked and took a sip of Pellegrino. “Yes. The giraffe is my favorite animal.”  
  
“Why? Do you mind telling me?”  
  
Miranda forced herself to relax into her seat and thought for a few moments. “Because they’re so impossible that it’s difficult to believe they exist. Nothing about them is reasonable, if you believe in evolution. Their coloration doesn’t hide them from anything in their environment. They have strange furry horns that serve no true purpose. They have no real ability to fight but they’re so tall any predator can see them.”  
  
She took another sip of water and said very quietly, “I suppose the answer is that they make me wonder about the why and how of life, when the whys and hows in my world are usually entirely obvious. Giraffes are so beautiful and yet so incredibly improbable that they make me believe in God—a benevolent and well-intentioned God. In very much the same way you do, actually.”  She sat up abruptly, deeply embarrassed, “So there. I don’t philosophize and now you know why.”  
  
Andy was profoundly moved but knew Miranda’s warmth allowance had just been temporarily but entirely depleted so she only sighed, batted her eyelashes and patted her heart, which made Miranda’s eyes roll. “For God’s sake, Andrea, stop that.”  
  
Andy laughed and they continued their lunch.

* * *

Before she left, she hugged Miranda and then kissed her tenderly. “Do me a favor, sweetheart?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Take it easy on Em for the rest of the day. She’s seriously about to stroke out.”  
  
Miranda pulled away but not unkindly, “I’ll never understand why you take that girl’s side when she makes such snide remarks to you—and don’t think I haven’t heard them. She acts like she can’t stand you.”  
  
Andy patted Miranda’s sleeve and smiled sweetly, “One. She saved your life so she’s golden. Two. I don’t even notice anymore. That’s just her Runway way of liking me. You and Nigel and Emily all treat me that way occasionally.”   
  
Miranda opened her mouth to disagree but even she was incapable of such a lie. “You may have a small point.”  
  
“Thanks for that concession but if you were all a bit more reflective you might ask yourselves why you habitually denigrate the few people who actually like you.”   
  
Miranda looked as if she might be just about to take offense in a big way so Andy quickly laughed and kissed her cheek, “Do what you want, darling, but I’m telling you this: Emily’s smarter and funnier than you know. She loses about 50 IQ points around you because she’s always so frightened.”  
  
Miranda didn’t actively disagree, which Andy took as another concession. “Thank you so much for lunch. Tell Magdalena how much I loved it. When can we—“  
  
“Dinner here tomorrow with the girls?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
They kissed, then parted, and Andy only narrowly resisted the urge to slide down the banister and skip down the street.

* * *

  
At 9PM, Andy was on the phone with Miranda and heard the woman pause, “Alright—I need to ring off. The book’s here early and I’m going to go frighten Emily.”  
  
“Even more? How?”  
  
“I’m going to be nice to her in about the only way I can think of. I’ll tell you how it went tomorrow.”  
  
After they said goodbye, Miranda called Emily into her study. “You have the book?”  
  
Emily handed it to her promptly, “There you are—if you don’t need anything else, I’ll just—“  
  
“Can you make tea?” Miranda snorted, “What am I saying? You’re English. Of course you can make tea. Make a pot of chamomile tea—for both of us. I want to show you something. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”  
   
Emily ferreted about in the kitchen, found the tea things and started the water boiling even as her mind and stomach were boiling over what Miranda might want to show her. A list of the mistakes she’d committed earlier? Her termination notice? Her bullet scars? She drummed her fingers on the counter.  
  
When Miranda arrived in the kitchen carrying the book, Emily had the chamomile tea ready and was also equally ready to throw up.  
  
“Will you pour for us? You’ll need to sit next to me.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
With the tea poured, Emily took her seat next to Miranda, preparing herself for God knew what before the woman spoke. “I thought you might like to see how I go over the book.”  
  
Emily could not, in one million years, have been more surprised and her eyelashes fluttered wildly, “Well. Yes. Of course. Yes.”  
  
Miranda smiled internally before continuing, “This isn’t a test, Emily, and it isn’t a trick. I just thought you might be interested and since you’re already here—“  
  
“No—I mean yes. Of course I’m interested.”  
  
“Good. And speak up—you’re only too aware that I’ll say so if I disagree with you. But you should remember I will never, ever agree with you if you never give me anything with which to agree. Cowards cower and never get heard.”  
  
Emily nodded, thunderstruck.  
  
For the first hundred or so pages, Miranda pointed out the errors she saw with an enraptured Emily hanging on every word. On page 125, Miranda prompted her, “What’s wrong with this, Emily?”  
  
Emily almost spoke, faltered, turned the next few pages and found her voice, “It’s entirely too similar to the spread we did in June with those tailored trousers—even down to the print color and font.”  
  
Miranda nodded, “Exactly. Very good, Emily.”  Emily felt herself melt instantly and completely under those words like a piece of wax under a flame-thrower.  
  
After this, Emily spoke more frequently. She was sometimes correct, sometimes not. What corrections Miranda gave her were gentle and informative and she continued to praise Emily’s good intuitions. When they finished, which took considerably longer than it would have if Miranda had been doing it herself, the two women had new opinions of each other.  
  
Emily felt nearly crushed by happiness and disbelief and the sheer unbelievable weight of having finally— _finally_ gotten a modicum of approval from Miranda. Which made her feel even more, God help her, in thrall to the woman.  
  
Miranda found herself amused and pleased. After Emily had gotten over her sheer terror and had slightly opened up, she was exactly what Andrea had said she was, both more intelligent and far wittier than she’d realized.  
  
Miranda took the time to see her to the door and said, “We’ll do this again tomorrow tonight, if you like. It’s good training for you.”  
  
Emily swallowed hard, having never thought she might be trained for anything but further abject servitude, “Of course, Miranda. Thank you for—”  
  
“Nonsense. 8AM.”  
  
“Of course. Absolutely.”  
  
“Roy is waiting. That’s all.”  
  
Emily smiled—a shy but true smile, a genuine smile.  
  
She really was an astonishingly pretty girl, Miranda thought as she nodded goodbye.

* * *

  
As Emily walked into her apartment she couldn’t stand it—she had to call Serena.  
  
A Serena who was obviously sleeping as she mumbled “Yes, English?”  
  
“Sorry to wake you but you will never believe what her nibs just did!”  
  
“Her nibs. Alright, and that is English-speak for…“  
  
“Her. Herself. Miranda, obviously.”  
  
Emily sounded so ecstatic that Serena had no idea what might come out of her mouth. “Really? Alright. Please tell me.”   
  
As Emily recounted the beginning of her day, and her irritation with Andrea’s visit and then her evening, Serena relaxed and felt a warm glow both for her girlfriend and for the woman who had so unexpectedly caused it. And felt she knew exactly the source of this unexpected favor on Emily’s behalf, even if the woman didn’t want to acknowledge it herself.

* * *

It had taken Magdalena very little time to see, when she’d served the two lunch in that study, what was going on between them. Others might not but it was as obvious to her as the nose on her face. When Miranda walked into her kitchen the next afternoon she didn’t know she was walking into the minefield that she was.  
  
Magdalena chopped vegetables as she launched into the topic without a preface, “She stays in the hospital with you. She calls all of the time. You have her for lunch yesterday—you have her for dinner tonight. Andy, Andy, Andy. You think I have no eyes or ears? Ridiculous. We both know that you are getting older. But middle-aged women get rid of their husbands and get the toy-boys or cars. They don’t get girls half of their age.”  
  
Of course John had noticed. And of course Magdalena would, too. Miranda took a few moments to get used to this and breathed deeply before answering, “She’s not a girl. She’s a woman.”  
  
“Oh? And I suppose, knowing you, that you’ve made sure of this fact.”  
  
“Magdelana!” Miranda was shocked. The woman was often vicious but never vulgar.  
  
The older woman scoffed, “You know what your problem is? It is this. You are too spoiled. If you could just…shop like the other women, this would not be happening to you. But you do not even have to shop. Everything—the world—is yours and it’s even delivered to you so you act this way. You get a girl. And for how long—a week? A month? She wants your money. She must. Why else? She’s half your age! It is not right and your girls will not think so either.”  
  
She waved the knife wildly in Miranda’s direction, which did not alarm her, having been threatened by Magdalena’s cutlery for years.  
  
“You know what is true? You will look….stupid and weak and needy with such a girl. It’s so obvious—like the foolish middle-aged man. People will find out, you know. And what will they think?”  
  
Miranda was cut to the quick by the woman’s words but only said quietly, “They will say what they will, I suppose. Just as you are.”  
  
Magdalena snorted, “People will laugh at you for this and you will deserve it.”  
  
Miranda felt her ire build for the five seconds she looked into her long-term and deeply-valued employee’s eyes. “Let’s call this what it is. You’re not talking about people—you’re talking about you. Understand this. I don’t care—at all—whether  you’re happy about Andrea or not. If you don’t like our relationship, which is a fact that will not change, please leave. The girls and I would miss you terribly and I’d give you six months salary, benefits and glowing references but I would prefer you leave. And one more thing—if I hear you saying anything, anything at all negative about Andrea to the girls, your leaving won’t be your decision. It will be mine.”  
  
It was Magdalena’s turn to take a deep breath. She had expected to shame Miranda quite easily but this was not what she thought. This was very plain talking, indeed. She nodded, acquiescing, and continued her chopping. “So. This girl. It’s like that?”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Your dinner will be ready at six.”  
  
“Fine. Thank you.”  
  
Miranda turned to leave but decided that—no—that wasn’t nearly enough. Her eyes were completely cold when she turned back, “Magdalena, I will never forget or forgive you for the things you just said. You said them to hurt me in ways you know me well enough would and my only offense is that I’m in love. I thought you were part of my family and that you actually cared for me. But obviously, that was delusional on my part. You’ve disappointed me more than I can find words to express. Tomorrow, if you choose to come back, you will be an employee. Not part of my family. You will be my household help. And nothing more. That’s all.”  
  
Miranda noted that Magdalena’s lips went pale as she spoke. They nodded to each other but when Miranda left the room, Magdalena’s shoulders began to shake and she suddenly erupted, crying in violent wracking sobs, as she had not since she was a child.  
  
Miranda heard this as she walked down the hall. She paused and put her hand on the cool surface of the wall, closing her eyes as she listened to the anguish of the person who’d just hurt her. She’d thrown a vicious sucker punch at Miranda and Miranda had thrown it right back, but much harder.  
  
The wall was cool and her face was hot with the anger and embarrassment the woman’s words had caused her. Somehow, however, although the sound should satisfy her and, during many years in her life might have, it did not. It was wrong and she knew she was wrong to have caused it. She and the girls were the only family Magdalena had. The woman was a bitch but she certainly wasn’t the only one in the house. Burning with shame and furious at herself for feeling it, she turned around and walked back into the kitchen.  
  
She had never hugged Magdalena in their long lives together but she pulled her into her arms as the woman sobbed nearly incoherent apologies into her neck.  
  
“Shh. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course not. You’re part of my family and always will be. Shhh…take some deep breaths. We couldn’t live without you. Please don’t leave us, Magdalena.”  
  
This brought a renewed bout of sobbing and Miranda felt much as she’d seen men look when dealing with feminine crying. What to do? Ah, yes. You patted them. She patted the older woman’s back and felt tears hot and wet on her neck. Oh, good Lord.  
  
“Shh…you need to get yourself together. The girls can’t see you this way—they’ll think I’ve been beating you.”  
  
Magdalena pulled away and rubbed the tears from her eyes, “You may as well do so. Such words! You are a hard one, _jefa_.”  
  
“That’s what they tell me.”  
  
The woman sniffled and shook her head. “I am…sorry for what I said about your young girl. I did not know you felt so much for her but I don’t like you to do things that will have people saying things. It will hurt you and I do not like that.”  
  
“Again, Magdalena, she’s not a girl. She’s a woman. And people who don’t know us can say what they want. It’s only the people in my home who can hurt me and you’re one of them. You understand?”  
  
“Yes. I think I do. Does John know this?”  
  
“He does and he fully supports me. He trusts me. I wish you did.”  
  
Magdalena shrugged, “I do but I have the feeling I know best sometimes. You do, too, no?”  
  
“Often. Continually, actually.  Very well. Dinner at six?”  
  
“6:15 if you are always going to make me cry and storm about.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Both women smiled as Miranda left the kitchen.

* * *

When Andy arrived, Miranda and the girls greeted her. The twins were quite surprised that their mother gave the young woman a real hug and a real kiss on the cheek but were too used to hiding their reactions to let that show. Actually, their mother almost never invited people to dine with them in their home, much less serve them all herself instead of letting Magdalena do it. She usually went out to dinner and she certainly didn’t have any friends Andy’s age. It was enough to make them quite curious.  
  
The meal went well, with fairly easy conversation and Andy pleased the girls with a story of a python their oldest reader had found in her toilet and had called them to photograph plus a few other oddities from the Mirror. They talked about a few of their upcoming school projects and Miranda was actually quite humorous, not bitter, about the latest debacle at Runway.  
  
What the girls noticed most over dinner was that their mother was far more relaxed with Andy and she smiled and laughed more easily with her than anyone they could remember. And it wasn’t fake laughter or fake smiling. She was really happy and having a good time. This was so relatively rare that it was something to note and someone to wonder about, the person who could create such a mood.  
  
The twins glanced at each other frequently over the span of the meal and shared the unspoken communication they’d had all their lives. Andy was actually sort of pretty and nice. She had a nervous laugh but she could be funny and she was smart. She looked at their mom in much the way all of her assistants had in their experience—like she was crazily obsessed with her and hanging on every word. Even though Andy wasn’t her assistant anymore, which made it strange.  
  
What was much more strange was that their mother was looking at Andy that way, too. And she was also touching her every time she walked past, a casual touch on the shoulder, a brush of her hand on Andy’s as she filled her wine glass.  
  
They were eating dessert when the penny finally dropped.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Both of them looked at each other and raised their eyebrows and spoke aloud.  
  
“You think so?”  
  
“Oh yeah. Totally. It’s on.”  
  
“Who knew?”  
  
“I _know_. Who knew.”  
  
“What’s that, guys?” Andy asked.  
  
Miranda smiled at her girls, “Nothing, Andrea. They’re not talking to us. They’re answering each others’ thoughts. You get used to it with twins.”  
  
“Wow. That must be pretty cool.”  
  
Cassidy nodded, “It really….sometimes depends.”

* * *

  
After dinner, Andy begged off staying, seeing how tired Miranda was. She turned to the girls and said, “Thanks for putting up with me during dinner—and please let Magdalena know how awesome it was.”  
  
Miranda nodded and said, “Girls, I’ll walk Andrea out.”  
  
They said their goodnights and then walked up to the one spot where they could pretty much hear and see everything that went on at the front door. They knew it wasn’t cool to spy or to eavesdrop but they’d never find out anything in their own home if they didn’t.  
  
They watched as their mother walked Andy to the door. They weren’t surprised by their hug but they were surprised at its length—they just stood there holding each other. For a long, long time. Finally they separated and gently kissed.   
  
“Thank you for dinner, sweetheart. I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too. I wish you’d take a car.”  
  
“Nah. I’m a subway girl. I’ll call you when I’m home.”  
  
They watched their mother tenderly kiss Andy again, then stroke her cheek and run her hand down her arm. “I can hardly bear saying goodbye to you. I really can’t. You don’t know how it hurts me.”  
  
Andy leaned in and murmured, “Yes I do, my love…”  
  
At that point, without speaking, the twins got up and quietly walked away. They knew some things were too private to listen to and they’d already crossed that boundary.  
  
“O _kay_. Wow,” Cassidy said as they got out of earshot.  
  
“Yeah. What are we gonna do?”  
  
“What do you mean—what is there to do?”  
  
They walked into Cassidy’s room, which was, for some reason, their default discussion space.  
  
“Mom’s dating a girl—that’s stupid.”  
  
Cassidy and Caroline often communicated without words and usually understood each other perfectly but they didn’t always agree. This was one of those times.  
  
“Why is that stupid,” Cassidy asked as she took a seat at her desk.  
  
Caroline flung herself on Cassidy’s bed, “She’s a GIRL. Not just a girl—but a _GIRL_. How old is she, anyway?”  
  
“25.”  
  
“Mom’s 50—that’s disgusting.”  
  
Cassidy winced, hating to disagree with her twin. “It’s not disgusting, Caroline. Just because we aren’t used to it doesn’t make it disgusting—didn’t you see how happy mom is with her? I mean—really. Didn’t you?”  
  
Caroline stared at the ceiling and Cassidy continued, “I’d rather mom be happy with Andy than miserable with Stephen. At least Andy really tries to be nice.”  
  
“Right. But for how long?”  
  
“Let’s just give her a chance. Okay? She can’t be worse than Stephen.”  
  
Carolina stared daggers at the ceiling but could not stand to be out of sorts with Cassidy. “Fine.”  
  
“Good. I’ll go tell mom.”  
  
Caroline sat straight up. “What?”  
  
“I’ll tell mom.”  
  
Caroline nodded. Cassidy had always been more brave than she was.

* * *

Miranda was walking toward her bedroom when she heard Cassidy’s voice, “Hey mom?”  
  
“Yes, darling?”  
  
“You have a few minutes for a talk?”  
  
Oh dear. This was never a good sign. “Yes, love. Of course.”  
  
They sat on Miranda’s bed and Cassidy said, “We’ve been talking and…”  
  
Miranda’s mind immediately went everywhere and nowhere…was she going to have to come out to everyone on Earth in a week?  
  
“We think Andy might be really….important to you, so we’d like to get to know her a little more. We think you should invite her over a lot. So we can get to used to her, you know what we mean?”  
  
Miranda looked into the eyes of her more diplomatic child and smiled, “I would appreciate that very much. I’m sorry if this upsets either or both of you, but she is my…” the words stopped in her throat and she felt tears welling in her eyes. “I love her, Cassidy. That’s as simple a way to tell you as I can. I love her.”  
  
Cassidy hugged her mother and said, “That’s enough for me. Caroline will probably need more. But what’s new about that?”  
  
Miranda laughed and Cassidy said as she walked to the door, “Could you take it slow, please? We don’t need another Stephen.”  
  
It was times like these when Miranda regretted the fact that her daughters had had to mature so quickly. “We will take it slow. But Andrea is not Stephen.”  
  
Cassidy shrugged. “We’ll see.”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“Night, mom. Love you.”  
  
“Love you and tell the Caroline the same.”  
  
When Cassidy closed the door Miranda collapsed on the bed. Being shot was becoming, in retrospect, so much easier than coming out.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

“Andrea, I have news.”  
  
“Since I left? Wow.” She looked at her watch. 25 minutes. “News since I left?”  
  
“Yes, evidently we’re so entirely obvious the children know we’re together and they want you to come over more often so that they can, and I paraphrase, ‘Get used to you and get to know you.’”  
  
Andy’s eyebrows rose.  
  
“Oh, and I didn’t have time to tell you that we’re also so entirely obvious that Magdalena knows as well. So everyone in my immediate family’s completely informed. Do you think we should call your parents, dear?”  
  
Andy frowned at Miranda’s tone, “Is this making you angry?”  
  
“Not exactly angry but I don’t know what we’re doing that seems to be so—“  
  
She was interrupted by Andy’s laughter, “Are you kidding? We can’t take our eyes off each other, Miranda. And we look like we want everyone else to get the hell out the room so that we can…do what we really want to do. You think that might be part of it?”  
  
Miranda sniffed. “Perhaps…by the way, Emily, your star pupil, seems to remain blissfully unaware.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. But she would. She’s jealous and wouldn’t want to know. What’d you do last night to be nice?”  
  
After Miranda described her book session with Emily, Andy snickered, “She must have been beside herself. That would be like Christmas, Boxing Day, her birthday and being able to eat about a ton of carbs without gaining an ounce.”  
  
“It seemed so, actually. I could almost hear her heart pounding. Regardless, I will grant you, she’s not entirely useless.”  
  
Andy smiled into the phone, “Aww. That’s so sweet. You like her. You really like her.”  
  
“I said no such thing. The book is on-time, which means I have a few hours. I’ll do the same with her tonight and see how she deals with it.”  
  
“She’ll love it. Where are the girls?”  
  
“I believe they’re watching one of those Harry Potter debacles, _again_.”  
  
“Yes, debacle describes it—and I’m not talking about the movies.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing. Why don’t you take a nap?”  
  
“I don’t nap.”  
  
“You could. You’re so tired, my darling. I’ll call you back in one hour and wake you up, how about that? Do it for me?”  
  
There was a long pause, “Alright.”  
  
“Thank you. You know I really I wish I were there but just remember that soon I’ll be holding you in my arms as you sleep.”  
  
“And we won’t be wearing clothes.”  
  
“Of course we won’t be, but don’t get us started. You need some rest. Talk to you in an hour.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Andy expected Miranda to hang up but she didn’t. “I don’t know why or how you talk me into these things.”  
  
“Because I’m your giraffe, Miranda. Why? I love you. How? I love you.”  
  
“That must be it, then.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Miranda punched her phone off, slipped off her shoes and got into bed fully clothed and fully expecting to stare at the ceiling. It was ridiculous to try to nap. She hadn’t napped since she was breast-feeding the twins. Utterly ridiculous. She fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

That evening began the ‘getting to know you’ phase in the Priestly household.  
   
Andy dined frequently with the family and came over on the weekends and the girls began to acclimatize themselves to her presence, although Caroline continued to be distant and hesitant. Cassidy was more accepting. She saw that Andy adored her mom, just as her father still did. Much as Stephen hadn’t. She knew he’d loved her mom a lot but was also always slightly scared of her and had almost seemed to half-hate her all at the same time.  
  
She watched her mom and Andy have little skirmishes—you couldn’t even call them fights—and although Andy sparred with her, she was always gentle and respectful. She was also surprisingly nonchalant and acted like her mom’s anger and unreasonableness were entirely predictable. She even seemed to think her moods were sort of cute.   
  
One day, and after about one month, Cassidy worked up enough courage to ask Andy why she wasn’t more afraid of her mother because she certainly was.  
  
Andy smiled broadly, “I worked for her, Cassidy. I was her second assistant. She can’t possibly say or do anything worse to me than she’s already done.” Andy touched the tip of Cassidy’s nose, “Word to the wise. Your mother is truly impossible. And I’ll tell you that when I worked for her I was always really, really scared of her. I mean, sometimes I could hardly breathe when she walked into the room.” She shrugged, “But I don’t think of her that way anymore because I don’t work for her. I’m her girlfriend. That’s a different relationship. And even though your mom tends to bring a lot of attitude home from work, you have to remember you’re not her employees, either. You guys are her family.”  
  
“But, Andy, she—“  
  
“No. Listen, Cass. Just do your best to make her happy and then ignore her and her moods will blow over. They always do and she doesn’t even remember them. Just try not to take her so seriously, okay? I mean, she is your mom and you totally have to listen to her when she’s telling you to do stuff or when she’s really talking to you. But you mostly need to remember she really loves you and not to stay so focused on her or worried about how she’s feeling all the time. It’s not healthy for any of you.”  
  
This had never occurred to Cassidy. Most of their lives, seemingly just to survive, she and Caroline had fine-tuned their behavior and words to suit their mother’s moods. That they might not have to take their mom as seriously as they did was astonishing to her.   
  
“Do you really think that’s true, Andy?”  
  
“I know so. How long does she argue with me when she’s just in a snit?”   
  
“Maybe about five minutes.”  
  
“Yep, and then she’s mad for, at most, only maybe a couple of hours. Or maybe, if she’s really, really mad, even a whole day, right? And then she’s fine?”  
  
Cassidy considered this. “Yeah.”  
  
“I can live through a couple of hours or a day and you can, too. And don’t waste your time worrying through those hours, okay? I don’t and you shouldn’t either. She’ll always be just fine. She’s a moody person. Don’t trust those moods—trust her love for you.”  
  
This was the day Cassidy decided she was entirely and firmly in Andy’s court.  
  


* * *

  
Six weeks of lunches and dinners, movies and phone calls and stolen, passionate kisses passed. They used the phone to their sexual advantage at least once per week, sometimes more, which Andy immensely enjoyed. It wasn’t just the sexiness of the voice on the other end that got her off but the fact that Miranda was so adamant and so intensely jealous of even masturbation on her part. A man’s possessiveness to that degree would have immediately gotten his ass kicked to the curb. But Miranda’s was hot to her because it was _Miranda_ and of course she had to be the only one. Of course she did.  
  
Although the girls usually spent every other weekend with John, they hadn’t for those six weeks because of his travel schedule. On the Monday night of the seventh week, Miranda asked Andy as they sipped wine in her study, “This weekend John has the girls. I was wondering if you’d like to come and stay with me?”  
  
Andy beamed and answered, “You know you don’t even have to ask. I’ll be here. And I hope you’ll note that I didn’t even turn that phrase into, ‘Of course I’d like to stay with you and come.’”  
  
Miranda sighed and ignored this, “I thought we might have dinner out on Saturday night but, beside that, you won’t need any clothes at all.”  
  
Andy smiled, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.  
  
“And you’re sure this is what you want, Andrea?”  
  
“More than anything on Earth.”  
  
Miranda nodded and she said, as she moved close enough on the couch to touch Andy, “I’d suggest you have a hearty lunch on Friday. Dinner will be delayed until we both get what we need. In fact, we’re going straight to the bedroom as soon as you get here.”  
  
“Sounds like a great plan.”  
  
Miranda put her wineglass on the table, took Andy’s from her hand and kissed her…and kissed her…and kissed her. When her hand slipped into Andy’s blouse, under her bra and cupped one of Andy’s breasts, the younger woman groaned and hurried to reciprocate.  
  
It was Miranda who broke the kiss and the contact, “We have to stop.”   
  
Andy gasped, “Oh, for the love of—why?”  
  
“The girls—and we’re saving this for—“  
  
“The door’s locked and the girls are playing some Wii game and—“  
  
“We’re saving this for a better time. I won’t have a quickie with you—not the first time.”  
  
Andy pouted, “But we’ve already had a quickie.”  
  
“Thank you for that reminder, Andrea. I won’t do this halfway. Not anymore. I want both of us naked in our bed.” She leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Do you think, on this couch, knowing I might have to stop at any moment, I can take the time I need to enjoy being inside you for the first time? To make you understand how completely I need you to be mine?”  
  
Andy whispered, “Oh…Miranda, please.”  
  
“Do you think you could give me all of the attention I need from you when I need you so much?”  
  
Andy felt like she was going to explode but rubbed her warm cheek on Miranda’s. “Alright, Friday. But please, Friday.”  
  
“Friday. But no touching until then.”  
  
“No. Of course not.” She grabbed her wineglass and didn’t even feign the fact that she chugged it.  
  
Miranda smirked at that, but even as she looked into Andy’s eyes, a cloud moved over her expression and her face became serious. “You make me lose my head, Andrea, and when you do I also lose sight of something that is true but I never forget. I have one very serious thing to address with you, only once, and then I will leave it alone.”  
  
Uh oh, Andy thought, her ardor cooling immediately. “What, honey?”  
  
Miranda poured them both another glass of wine but did not meet Andy’s eyes. “I am not entirely…”  
  
She paused, then continued, “This will be, for both of us, our first time with another woman. I am certainly aware that your former lovers have been young, fit men.”  She took a sip of wine, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, frowning.  
  
Andy’s heart was in her throat, “What is it, sweetheart? Tell me. Anything. Tell me.”  
  
Miranda took a few deep breaths and visibly made up her mind. Her voice was cold and factual, “I am 50 years old, Andrea. And while I exercise and keep myself trim and quite reasonably fit, I absolutely and undeniably have the body of a middle-aged woman, a woman who has borne and breast-fed children. My breasts are not where they used to be when I was your age and neither is my posterior. My stomach is softer than it used to be, my thighs are larger than they used to be and my skin sags in places even I no longer recognize. And that is what you will be getting on Friday—the body of a middle-aged woman.”  
  
Whoa. Andy blinked in astonishment and took a sip of wine. This attitude certainly had to be nipped in the bud. “Can I ask you something, Miranda?”  
  
The woman nodded.  
  
“Do you still think I’m fat?”  
  
Miranda was dumbfounded, “What? What are you talking about?”  
  
“Surely you remember that you’ve called me fat a number of times. I’m asking you, do you still think I’m fat?”  
  
Miranda’s cheeks turned pink but she waved her hand, “Oh, that was—that was ridiculous on my part. Of course you’re not fat. You’re perfect.”  
  
Andy grabbed that hand and held it. “No. I am not. I’m not perfect and we both know it. I have as many flaws and imperfections as any normal woman. When I take off my clothes on Friday night, are you going to look at me, with all my flaws, through the eyes of the woman who loves me or as the editor of _Runway_?”  
  
Miranda snapped, “You know the answer to that.”  
  
“Then why would you think I’d see, when I look at you, anything but the precious, beautiful body of the woman I love?”  
  
Miranda’s blue eyes searched hers, as if looking for a lie, the slightest prevarication. When she found only affection and tenderness, she sniffed, “I suppose we’ll see.”  
  
“We will. And, personally, I can’t wait to see….so, Miranda?”  
  
“What?” The woman forced herself to soften her tone, “Yes, Andy?”  
  
“I know it’s normal to be a little anxious, but can we just decide right now not to be embarrassed in front of each other? Not even for a second? We’re going to be lovers. There’s really no point in it and we’ll enjoy ourselves so much more.”  
  
Miranda hesitated, then nodded, but the expression on her face told Andy the subject was closed for the night so she leaned forward and kissed the woman’s cheek. “Let’s go watch the girls play their game.”  
  
Although this got a roll of the eyes, Andy knew this was one sure way to pick up her sweetheart’s mood. She held out her hand and Miranda took it.

* * *

  
Early that Friday morning, Andy felt a little punch-drunk with anticipation and actually, because her face was continually flushing and she was occasionally not even hearing her coworkers’ questions, she was a bit afraid her coworkers would think she really was drunk.  
  
“What’s gotten into you, Sachs? Hot date tonight?” Alicia’s voice cut into her mood like a vegetable peeler, serrated but not all that damaging.  
  
 _Just a flesh wound_ , Andy thought, before stifling a giggle.  She knew the Valentino skirt and Christian Lous she was wearing couldn’t be making the woman happy.  
  
“Doug finally taking you to a cabin upstate or something?”  
  
From the corner of her eye, Andy saw Matthew look up with apparent interest. _Okay, honestly_ , Andy thought. _That comment was a bit much for the workplace._  
  
She answered, quietly,  “Alicia, is your focus on my love life a compensation for your lack of one? Really. What’s your problem?”  
  
Alicia didn’t even flinch, “The problem is you’ve been buzzing all over this newsroom this morning in a way that’s abnormal even for you. It was just a question.”  
  
Andy nodded. “Alicia, in the future, let’s limit our conversation and questions to business. My personal life is none of your concern, just as your apparent lack thereof is none of mine.”  
  
Reggie, who sat closest to them, smiled into his monitor, stifling a laugh.  
  
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”  
   
“The lady is a lady and does not discuss personal matters in a place of business.”  
  
Alicia stood, leaned forward and whispered so that only Andy could hear, “Then maybe the lady needs to act a little less like she’s looking forward to getting laid.”  
  
Andy’s mouth dropped open and she glared but what could she say? It was true. “Fuck off, Alicia,” she whispered, “I mean that, sincerely.”  
  
Thirty minutes later, over the copier, Reggie said in a low voice, “Don’t listen to that bitch. She’s just got it in for you because she’s been here longer and Mike already gives you the assignments she thinks she deserves.”  
  
“Then I’d really prefer she attack me about that than making snide comments about my personal life.”  
  
“Yeah, but what could she say? ‘You’re better than I am and I’m pissed?’”  
   
Andy patted Reggie on the arm and smiled. “Thanks, Reg.”  
  
“You’re welcome, but Andy, be careful. You know Alicia’s not your friend—but she’s _really_ not your friend. I’ve been here longer than you have and I know, for sure, she’s been behind three people getting fired here. She made up stuff and it stuck.”  
  
“Really? Mike believed _her_?”  
  
“He didn’t have to believe her—she made it look like she wasn’t even involved. She’s a sucky reporter but she rocks the intrigue and she’s really good at computer stuff—you know, hacking your email and making up all sorts of heinous stuff.”  
  
“Wow. Thanks for giving me the heads up, Reg, but I think I might have a silver bullet for that werewolf.”  
  
“I hope so. You’re gonna need it, Andy. I’m serious. She’s poison.”  
  
She thought for one minute and, although she knew it was a totally wimpy thing to do, she was nervous enough about the exchange to go into the bathroom and call Miranda, who listened quietly and told her she would hear from her soon.  
  
“You don’t have to do anything. I just wanted your advice.”  
  
“I know I don’t have to do anything. If you preferred that I not assist you, why call me, Andrea?”  
  
“I guess I just feel better having spoken to you about it—just don’t go over the top, okay?”  
  
“Me? Surely you jest. I will speak to you soon.”

* * *

At 1:30, Mike walked out of his office and barked, “ _Sachs! C’mere_!”  
  
She rushed into his office.  
  
“You have any idea why Miranda Priestly is coming here now and demanding I meet with her in 15 minutes?”  
  
Although she was startled, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, “No, Mike. She didn’t say anything last time I talked to her. I mean, maybe she wants to talk about some sort of editorial or something. Who knows? She’s sorta like that, though. She shows up and…you know, you deal with it.”  
  
He threw up his hands. “Well, hell’s bells. Do I look presentable, at least?”  
  
She hesitated, then reached forward and straightened his collar and tie, “You look great, boss. Don’t put on your jacket, though. She’ll see that’s just an affectation.”  
  
His eyes were surprised but they warmed, “You know her well.”  
  
“It used to be my job to know her better than anyone. Now I’m just a friend.”  
  
He scowled, then laughed. “News—never the same! It’s the best job in the world.”  
  
She smiled right back at him. “That it is.” Her smile was a good antidote to wanting to faint, since she had absolutely no idea what Miranda was up to.  
  
When Miranda arrived, there was an audible stilling of the newsroom, one with which Andy was quite well acquainted. She looked up and had to force herself not to beam at the vision walking toward her. This was not her Miranda—it was Miranda Priestly at her most ferociously and fully attitudinal regalia. Andy jumped to her feet and, as the woman arrived at her desk and barely looked at her, took her bag and coat as always.  
  
“Andrea,” she said in that cold, bored, supercilious and anxious-making voice the younger woman could still sometimes hear in her sleep, “Could you point me in the direction of your editor?”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.”  
  
As they walked toward Mike’s door, Andy whispered, “Thank you.”  
  
“Nonsense. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Andy nodded. This really was _Runway’s_ editor, not her Miranda. She knocked on the door for Miranda, showed her in and returned to her desk, hanging up her coat and keeping her bag.  
  
Alicia sneered, “Once an assistant, always an assistant.”  
  
Andy nodded, slightly queasily, “You don’t know the half of it.”  
  
The door was closed for about 25 minutes and, although the newsroom was buzzing quietly, they didn’t direct any questions to Andy.

* * *

Mike led Miranda to his office door. “Thank you so much. We’ll certainly follow up. To tell the absolute truth, I wouldn’t have thought you, of all people, would keep an ear out for labor abuses in the garment district.”  
  
“I hope, despite my reputation, that I have a soul. I have many, many sources, Mike. Many eyes. And I will be happy to direct you to what they’ve seen. Hopefully anonymously now and, now that I’ve actually met you, by phone, of course.”  
  
“Of course. Thank you, Miranda. Can I see you to the—“  
  
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet Andrea’s colleagues by myself. Having their boss along with me might make them anxious, if you see my meaning.”  
  
Mike thought nothing he could do on Earth would intimidate his employees more than this woman, but he nodded, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miranda.”  
  
“And you as well. Andrea speaks so highly of you. In fact, her opinion gave me the courage to come to you because she so obviously trusts in your journalistic ethics.”  
  
This was putting it on a bit thick, she thought, but he straightened, visibly delighted, and nodded. She nodded and continued on her mission.  
  
She stopped at Andy’s desk, where she was seated, and asked, “Andrea, might you introduce me to some of your colleagues?”  
  
Andy cursed internally, knowing she should have thought about this before calling and knowing, by the look on the woman’s face, that Miranda was about to cause a scene. A Miranda scene, but a scene nonetheless. One that was so much more deadly and explosive because it was so quiet.   
  
Andy dutifully turned in her chair and pointed around the room and watched as the people pointed out sat more upright in their chairs.  
  
When Andy introduced Matthew, Miranda nodded slightly more cordially. When she introduced Reggie, the young man nearly hyperventilated as she actually approached him and air kissed his cheeks. “Yes, Andrea is very complimentary. I’ve heard much about you.” He turned nearly violet with embarrassment.  
  
Finally, Andy introduced Alicia, and Miranda smiled that horrible fake smile, the smile of a cobra about to strike, “Ah yes, Alicia.” Miranda put a light hand on Andy’s shoulder and said very quietly, very coolly, “Andrea’s told me so much about you. So much in fact that you’ve become…what is that delightful law enforcement expression? Oh yes, a person of interest.”  
  
She patted Andy’s shoulder, “You’re a person of very special interest to me. You couldn’t know this before but people become of special interest to me only through truly innovative artistry and journalism or through threatening or demeaning my magazine, my career, my family or my friends. Dare I leave it to your superior judgement to discern into which category you might fall?”  
  
Alicia’s face had become pale.  
  
“In the former instance, it is extraordinarily beneficial to be of interest to me. In the latter, it is utterly ruinous. At least in writing or in publishing. But, luckily, only in the United States, the U.K, France or Italy. Do you understand, Alicia?”  
  
“Yes,” Alicia whispered.  
  
“Good. It’s always nice to meet an intelligent person. Andrea, my coat?”  
  
Andy leapt up and held the woman’s coat as she donned it, handed her her bag and walked her out the door and onto the sidewalk.  
  
“Jesus, Miranda! I was just asking for your advice. I didn’t know you’d do this.”  
  
“Oh, please. Cut them off at the knees when they’re small, Andrea. Don’t wait for them to grow into threats so large that you need the big guns.”  
  
“But you’re a really big gun.”  
  
“True. But why should you use a paring knife when you have a bazooka?”  One look at Andrea’s anxious face made her relent, just a bit. “Andrea, you’re still at that age when you think you have no value if you don’t fight all your own fights, if you don’t ‘make it’ completely on your own. Wake up, love. Everyone gets where they’re going through working hard and making connections. Everyone. And you’re now as connected and as protected as you can possibly get in publishing. I hate to be vulgar, but good for you and tough shit for the other team.”  
  
“But, when people find out that we’re…”  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake. What? I’ll protect you and I’ll ensure you’re considered, but I promise you, you will never get a job because I asked for it. That would be ludicrous. No one tells me what to publish—and I would never ask such a favor of another editor. I can, and have, asked editors _not_ to publish—but asking anyone _to_ publish anyone? Never. I will ask for consideration, which as you know, is a platinum ticket. Your talent will decide your destiny and I have faith in that. Not the fact that I find your breasts particularly alluring.”  
  
“Miranda!” Andy looked around to make sure no one could hear then whispered, “I can’t wait for tonight, baby. I’m sort of ashamed to say, but what you just did made me even hotter for you.”  
  
"Which is perfectly natural. Power is sexually exciting—that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
“But I don’t have any power.”  
  
“No—but I do, and that’s what we’re talking about, aren’t we? Don’t you think that excites me, too? My power?”  
   
“Oh. Well, yeah.” Andy gave her a sheepish look, “Thanks, sweetheart.”  
  
“My pleasure. Feel free to call me anytime you need me to scare the help.”  
  
As she stepped into her car, Andy smiled up at the sky.  
   
When she walked back into the office, most of her coworkers ignored her. Matthew smiled anxiously, but only Reggie walked over to her and whispered, “Holy fuck. That was the silver bullet, huh?”  
  
“I think so—don’t you?”  
  
“Major. The were-wolverine isn’t dead but I think her howling’s mostly over.”  
  
When Alicia came back from the bathroom, she looked at Andy with loathing, “So. Had to call the cavalry? Not tough enough? Had to get someone to fight your battle for you?”  
  
“Actually, not really. I didn’t ask for it. All I had to do was mention I was concerned and the cavalry came to help me because, evidently, I’m worth the bother. When you’re worth the bother, someone will fight for you, too. Until then, you can fight all your own fights, which is sort of a lonely place to be, if you ask me. All I ask is for you to leave me alone, Alicia. I’ll leave you alone. But if you continue, my cavalry is one phone call away.”

* * *

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

As the girls were waiting at the door for their father to leave for the weekend, Caroline asked, with her typical artlessness, “So, I guess Andy’s coming over for the weekend, huh?”  
  
Miranda was used to sneak attacks like these, so she only answered blandly,  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“She’s going to stay over at night?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I knew it—told you, Cassidy.”  
  
“Who cares, Car? She’s her girlfriend. Look—there’s Dad. Let’s go.”  
  
Caroline did go, but without hugging or saying goodbye to her mother.  
  
Cassidy rolled her eyes and hugged her mother, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll work on her. Have a good weekend and say hello to Andy.”  
  
“I will, darling. I love you and tell your sister and father I love them, too.”  
  
“Will do.” She stepped out the door and said, “Oh, and Mom? I would say don’t do anything I wouldn’t do but I don’t think I’m really old enough yet to do what—“  
  
“Cassidy Priestly!!”  
  
Cassidy spritzed out a laugh and said, “ _Gotcha_!”  
  
“I’ll get you if you don’t get out of here, you….imp.” But her mother was smiling.  
  
Cassidy trotted down the stairs with a grin on her face. Andy was right. Life was better when she treated her mom like a real person.

* * *

As Andy trotted up the stairs to Miranda’s home with her overnight bag and her heart thundering in her ears, she was surprised that she didn’t even have to knock. Miranda had been waiting and opened the door wearing the shortest, and only just barely decent, robe Andy had ever seen. Her feet were bare and it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.  
  
Andy's eyes feasted on this vision even as she said, “Good God, Miranda. I’m glad I wasn’t Jehovah’s Witness. I would have converted to Miranda-ism right away.”  
  
Miranda nodded and kissed her cheek. “Bring your bag. There’s wine chilling by our bed upstairs.”  
  
As Andy followed Miranda up the stairs, she felt almost dizzy as she stared at the glimpses of Miranda’s ass the woman’s movements gave her, an ass that might not have been perfect but was perfectly what she wanted. Desperately what she wanted.  
  
When they entered Miranda’s bedroom, which Andy had never seen, the younger woman’s jaw dropped. The room was enormous and gorgeous and there was wine chilling near the bed, which was also enormous. The duvet and sheet had been turned back and there were also what seemed like nearly one hundred candles illuminating the room.  
  
“I thought we might enjoy seeing each other and what we’re experiencing with each other.”  
  
Andy nodded, breathless, wordless. She felt like…like…exactly what Miranda had said she was emotionally…like she was a virgin girl. A virgin girl with her very first lover. She felt immature and unready for what they were about to do but she wanted it and needed it so badly that tears welled in her eyes.  
  
Miranda saw the shock and hesitancy in Andy’s face, took her bag and placed it at the closet door, then set her house alarm.  
  
“There now, we’re all safe and snug. I decided, my love, to take you at your word. No embarrassment, no hesitation with you.”  
  
Andy nodded and Miranda took off her robe and tossed it on the chair near the bed. Andy looked at the woman’s nude body for two seconds and the tears fell.  
  
She wiped them away immediately, “You’re so beautiful, Miranda, I can’t—I don’t know how to say how I feel about…”  
  
“Stop. There’s no need. Let’s get you out of these clothes.”  
  
Andy felt herself trembling as Miranda unbuttoned her blouse and reached for but hesitated to touch the ivory skin in front of her.  
  
Miranda’s voice was tender, “I’m your lover. You can touch me, darling.”  
  
Andy’s breath quickened as she lightly lay her shaking hands on the soft curves of Miranda’s hips.  
  
The unbuttoned blouse revealed a seriously sexy black brassiere that Andy had paid dearly for. As Miranda peeled the blouse off, she said casually, “Ah, Guia La Bruna.”  
  
“How’d you—strike that. Of course you’d know.”  
  
“Of course I would.” Miranda smiled and winked as she said, “You should know, by the way, that even Playtex wouldn’t keep me away from what you are to me, the treasures you’re keeping from me with this fabric.”  
  
And yet, Miranda did not take off her bra. She sat on the bed and slowly unbuttoned Andy’s skirt and slid it down her legs, quite pleased to see that her lingerie was matching and that she was wearing thigh high stockings.  
  
Miranda looked her over and pronounced her, “Completely delicious. You’ll have to serve me dinner in this outfit sometime. In the meantime, lose the shoes.”  
  
Andy stepped out of them.  
  
“The bra.”  
  
Andy removed it.  
  
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Good. Come closer, I’ll take off your hosiery.” She did and then gently dragged her perfectly manicured nails up the backs of Andy’s legs, which made the younger woman exhale sharply.  
  
“Now, let’s take these panties off.”  
  
She slowly, so very slowly, removed them that Andy could feel Miranda’s breath on her legs. Again, she ran her hands over the backs of Andy’s legs but this time she cupped the twin globes of her ass and pulled her forward. “I can smell that you need me, love,” the woman said as she nuzzled her face gently in Andy’s pubic hair. “You don’t know what that does to me.”  
  
Andy whispered, “Oh God, Miranda, please.”  
  
“No. Not yet. Turn around.”  
  
Andy did as she was told and felt Miranda’s grip on her hips as she pulled her back one step. And then she felt the warmth of Miranda’s skin as the woman leaned down and dragged her fingers casually up the front of the her legs, lingering over her thighs, letting her nails brush her pubic hair before taking another firm grip on her hips. Andy groaned as she felt Miranda’s wet, open-mouthed kiss on one of her ass cheeks.  
  
She gently bit where she’d kissed and sucked the flesh. And then she bit her other cheek. And so it went on, again and again and again. Miranda’s hands were firm but Andy found herself offering her ass, wanting the slight sting of the bites, the warmth of that mouth.    
  
“Miranda, please. Really please,” Andy whimpered, feeling like she could hardly stand.  
  
“No. This is what you’ve done to me. You will wait.” She gently pushed Andy forward one step and Andy shook as the woman began to lick the dimples above her hips.  She worked her way up the younger woman’s spine, a tortuous route, taking her time to nip the flesh on either side. Then she was standing and pressed her body against Andy’s back, at which point Andy thought she really was in danger of collapsing.  
  
She could feel Miranda’s pubic hair brushing against her ass, her breasts pushed into her back and the woman’s breath on the back of her neck. Miranda brushed Andy’s hair to one side and began to nuzzle the spot and Andy shook like a leaf. The back of her neck was one of her most erogenous spots and Miranda latched onto it as if she’d known this forever. As she bit and sucked Andy’s neck, the girl felt chill-bumps cover her body and they were only increased by Miranda’s reaching around and taking her breasts in her hands.  
  
Miranda relaxed her pace, gently licking her neck, then blowing on it, then nipping it. And held, only held, her breasts.  
  
 _Oh yeah_ , Andy thought, _Miranda had her number cold_. Miranda continued this delicious torture for a few minutes and then turned her around.  
  
“There. Now you’re ready. Aren’t you, my love?” Miranda said, as Andy was feeling as breathless, astonished and wobbly as a newborn foal.  
  
Andy laughed shakily, “Ready? You mean that wasn’t it?”  
  
Miranda smiled, “Get into our bed, Andrea. We have so many things to learn about each other.”  
  
The first thing Andy learned was what it felt like to have a delicious woman on top of her, kissing her softly and then deeply. It was like an incredibly warm velvet weight enveloping her entirely.  
  
Miranda kissed her again and again and then whispered into her ear, “I’ve waited my entire life to feel this way with a lover in my arms. Let me love you, my darling girl.”  
  
And then she did. Miranda’s hot wet mouth was everywhere. Andy felt giddy and overwhelmed and then so counter-intuitively and oddly powerful to give Miranda what she needed, because as the woman had said herself, she’d been starving all of her life. Andy had had lovers who had wanted, desired her greatly—and they’d expressed this.  
  
But this woman didn’t just need or want; she was ravenous for her. Miranda licked her neck and shoulders, sucked and very gently or not so gently bit her in ways no other lover ever had. All the while, Andy couldn’t seem to help herself—she quietly whimpered and moaned and encouraged and pleaded.  
  
Her breasts—her breasts had never been so roughly treated, so tormented in her life, yet she kept murmuring, “Oh yes, Miranda, please Miranda. More. Take more.” At one point, she looked down to watch her lover, who seemed to be trying to pull the whole of one breast into her mouth and groaned, “Yes. That’s it. Yes. More.”  Then she closed her hand around Miranda’s other hand, which was squeezing her other breast incredibly tightly and squeezed it even tighter. Miranda moaned and took her mouth from her breast. “Are you sure?”  
  
Andy used the hand that had been caressing Miranda’s hair to offer her breast again to her lover. “Of course. Take me. All of me.”  
  
Miranda took the proffered nipple and began to pull it, already so swollen and tight and red, deeply into her hot, wet mouth. This went on until Andy warned her lover that she was going to come from this alone, at which point the woman abruptly stopped.  
  
Andy had never had a lover pay so much attention to her stomach but now she realized she’d missed something deeply erotic she could never have had with her male lovers. As Miranda nuzzled and bit and sucked her way down her abdomen, Andy luxuriated not only in that feeling but the sheer and impossible deliciousness of having Miranda’s incredibly soft skin grazing hers; she felt the soft weight of her breasts brush over her again and again, closer and closer to where she so desperately wanted her to be. And then she was close enough that Andy spread her legs, willing her downward. Miranda stopped, looked up into her eyes and smiled a feral smile, her eyes hooded with passion.  
  
“You’ll have to wait until I’m ready, won’t you?”  
  
Andy’s face was cherry red, “Of course, Miranda.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
But Miranda didn’t really make her wait—not really. She moved and spread Andy’s legs wider, looked down and smiled. She raked the back her nails over the inside of Andy’s thighs, which began to quiver. “So beautiful and so, so wet. Is all of this for me?”  
  
“Yes,” Andy whimpered, “Only you. Please, Miranda.”  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“Touch me. Please.”  
  
“Yes. But first, I’ll need something from you.”  
  
Andy's breath caught as she watched Miranda dipping her body down to press one of her breasts, then the other, into the wetness between her legs. She closed her eyes in sensory overload—it was so soft and so good and then it was gone. Her eyes popped open when she felt Miranda straddle her stomach, grinding gently.  
  
“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”  
  
Andy certainly could—she could feel the gentle coarseness of Miranda’s pubic hair and the molten wetness behind it. She immediately reached to hold Miranda’s ass and—  
  
“No, Andrea. That’s not what we’re doing now. You’re feeling what you’ll be taking care of after I take of you. But one thing first. She leaned forward so that her breasts were within reach of Andy’s mouth, “Your turn.”  
  
It fleetingly occurred to Andy, neophyte lesbian lover that she was, that it should probably be strange to pull a woman’s breasts into her mouth, instead of the most natural and desirable thing in her world in that moment. Miranda’s breasts were soft and heavy and that, combined with the fact that she tasted herself on this precious body, made her melt and breathe harder, licking and sucking and teasing them as Miranda encouraged her with lovely sounds. All the while Andy registered the hot, wet presence on her stomach and longed to taste more of what she was feeling.  
  
After minutes, when Miranda pulled her breast from her eager mouth, Andy made a sound of discontent and stared up at her.  
  
“It’s time. I need you.”  
  
Andy’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
Miranda positioned herself next to Andy’s side, “Put your arm around me, love.”  
  
Andy did and Miranda worked her way down Andy’s stomach with her hand, playfully swirled in her pubic hair and told her, “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”  
  
Andy felt her breathing become shorter as she did so and she hissed as she felt Miranda’s fingers touch her wetness for the first time. And she was insanely, obscenely wet.  
  
“All this—and just for me?”  
  
“Oh, yes. Only you.”  
  
“I need to be inside you.”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
Miranda caressed Andy, ran her fingers through her wetness, then settled on and gently circled what she needed.  “Look into to my eyes, Andrea. I want to watch us become one.”  
  
It was the work of two seconds for Miranda to thrust three fingers deep into her lover and watch her face, which reflected both inflamed passion and tenderness. And they both, at the same time, saw something so profoundly loving in each others' eyes that it was really too much, emotionally, to acknowledge with words.  
  
So Andy allowed her eyelashes to flutter with a feeling that was not feigned and she exhaled heavily, “Okay. Wow, Miranda. Now _that_ was an entrance.”  
  
Miranda smiled, tremendously relieved by the joke, “Are you okay?”  
  
“Not okay, darling. Perfect. But go slow, please? I want to make this last. I don’t want to come for a while—I want you inside me for a long time.”   
  
“You can’t want it more than I do.”  
  
As she very gently and slowly thrust into Andy’s wetness, Andy sighed and looked, with wonder, into blue eyes, “Do you know how much I love you, how much I’ve needed you inside me?”  
  
Miranda kissed her gently, “I have a feeling I know very well. I’ve needed this, too, and you’re every bit as hot and wet and tight and delicious as I knew you’d be.”  
  
“Miranda, please…”  
  
“Please what, my darling?”  
  
“More—and as deep as you can…please.”  
  
Miranda added her fourth finger and Andy moaned quietly, “Yesyesyes, please that—please do that, please as deep as you can. Not faster but harder if you can make it deeper, please.”  
  
Miranda was only too happy to do so as Andy opened her legs to give her greater access.    
  
They kissed for a very long time, a very, very long time as Miranda moved and Andy found herself increasingly wet and more deeply and deeply accommodating of her lover.  
  
“More, Miranda.”  
  
“Angel, I have no—“  
  
“Deeper—I want all of you inside of me.”  
  
Miranda moved from kissing Andy’s neck to look into her eyes, “Do you mean you want—“  
  
“Everything you can give me—as deeply as you can give it. Please, baby.”  
  
“Darling, you don’t have to do this for me.“  
  
“I want you deeper inside me than anyone’s ever been. Give that to me. Please?”  
  
Miranda looked into Andy’s desire-hazed eyes, “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“You can’t hurt me. I want to give myself to you. I want to open myself to you completely—I can’t get enough of you, Miranda. Don’t you know that?”  
  
Miranda looked into those gorgeous, honest brown eyes. “Yes.” She kissed her Andy sweetly, then repositioned herself lower and kissed her stomach.  
  
Miranda added her thumb, which was going nowhere yet, and Andy moaned her approval. Her skin was already slick with a sheen of perspiration but, after a few moments, she began to frankly sweat and her body twitched as she gently pulled at the bed sheets.   
  
It was the matter of many minutes, of gentle thrusting, gentle kissing of her stomach and whispered encouragement, before there so much wetness it was just a matter of pressure.  
  
Miranda was licking the sweat off of Andy’s stomach when Andy finally begged her, “ _Do it!_ Push _hard_. I need it! Now. Please.”  
  
And so Miranda did it—she pushed very hard and felt her knuckles pop past Andy’s opening and she was entirely inside. And entirely astonished—and worried because Andy’s hands flew to her face as she said, “Oh my God, Oh my God.”  
  
“Are you alright, Andrea?”  
  
Andy’s breaths were short hard jerks, “I’m perfect. Oh my God, I’m perfect. I’m yours. Please, please, please. Gently baby, please.”  
  
Miranda was as overwhelmed as she imagined Andy must be feeling, her hand so deeply in her body.  
  
She realized very quickly she had very little room to work with so she gently pulsed her hand within her lover.  
  
“That’s it, love.”  
  
As she watched Andy tremble under her gentle ministrations, she saw that her lover was lost in the physical world—there was no longer anything in her mind but their bodies and the connection between them. It had almost never happened to her in the 30+ years of her sexual life but she was astonished that they could have moved so deeply and so quickly into such a union.  
  
For a long while, Miranda tried very, very gentle and slight variations on her movements and suddenly Andy’s body arrested as she pulled upward the slightest bit.  
  
“Stop—no—go—that’s it. Just like that, baby. Please don’t stop. Just like that.”  
  
Miranda stopped, then tried to repeat her movement exactly, much to Andy’s pleasure.  
  
“Baby, _yes._ Just—yes—just a bit harder….oh God, yes, just a bit harder and faster…..  
  
Miranda watched Andy’s body tighten and pulse and watched as she grabbed at the bed sheets and anything for release that was obviously so very close and, suddenly, Andy froze entirely and…she cried out—loud inchoate sounds of pleasure and relief.  
  
Miranda felt it just as Andy did, because of the extraordinarily strong contractions around her hand. She had never been part of such a protracted sexual release—it seemed to cascade over her lover’s body for much more than a minute, leaving no muscle untouched, as she watched Andy writhing and wrestling in the bed against a force she did not want to escape.  
  
After it had finally ended, Miranda kissed her stomach soothingly but left her hand perfectly still as tiny aftershocks coursed over Andy’s body.  
  
Finally, the younger woman seemed to collapse into the bed and Miranda said, “It’s time now, love. Let me go.”  
  
She gently, very gently maneuvered her hand out of her lover and Andy groaned as she did.  
  
“Oh, sweetheart. Did I hurt you?”  
  
Andy reached for her and kissed her, “No, but I miss you inside me already.”  
  
Miranda pulled her into her arms, “I’m right here.”  She looked into Andy’s almost cloudy, hazy eyes, eyes filled with passion and what looked like a bit of anxiety and embarrassment. “What’s wrong, angel?”  
  
“I’m sorry if I was too…” her voice trailed off.  
  
Miranda stroked her cheek and took a guess. “You’re sorry that you were too open to me? To my love?”  
  
“No, of course not—but I don’t want you to think that—“  
  
“What? That you love me and wanted to please me as much as you could?”  
  
Andy nodded with the sweetest face Miranda had ever seen.  
  
Miranda continued to stroke Andy’s cheek, “I know why you wanted what you asked for, love. It was a gift to me—to open yourself completely and deeply to me. Wasn’t it?”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
Miranda kissed her, “Don’t you think I know that? That I felt that?”  
  
“I don’t know!” She threw her arms around Miranda, buried her face in her neck and began to cry.  
  
Miranda held her and patted her and shusshed her and thought that this would be her chief problem with having a female lover—the crying. But weighing the crying against the delicious, voluptuous and sweaty woman in her arms, she believed she could deal.   
  
She quieted her and settled her in her arms, “Rest now. We have all the time in the world.”  
  
“But I want to love you, too.”  
  
“You just did. We both need to relax, darling. That was as moving to me as to you, believe me.”  
  
Andy nodded, then nestled on Miranda’s chest and, to the older woman’s great amusement, promptly fell asleep. So much for the resiliency of youth. She looked around the room to make sure none of the candles were in danger of acting out, although she’d naturally placed them in secure holders and then relaxed, enjoying the pleasure of stroking her Andy’s back as she slept.

* * *

It was actually only about 15 minutes before Andy stirred, realized where she was and kissed Miranda’s neck.  
  
“God, I’m sorry—how long have I been asleep?”  
  
“Only for a matter of minutes.”  
  
“I’m sorry, honey—I think I really might have passed out, not slept. Which is all your fault.”  
  
Miranda rubbed her shoulder fondly, “So I’m just as much the taskmaster as a lover as I am as an employer?”  
  
“Maybe. Well…yeah, but the lover part feels a billion times better.”  
  
“That’s nice to know. Would you like a glass of wine?”  
  
“I would. And then I know I have work to do.”  
  
“You certainly do. I’m aching for you.”  
  
“I don’t need the wine, then.”  
  
“No. Let’s have the wine. I like anticipation—in everything, actually,” she said as she disentangled herself from Andy and sat up, “Don’t you know that anticipation is the key to my life? The anticipation of something beautiful—of some perfection to come? As I believe I told you once, I live on hope. Hope is all I have. And so I anticipate and I enjoy it.”  
  
Andy’s eyes dropped, “Geez, Miranda, but no pressure, right?”  
  
“Don’t be silly. I have the fullest confidence in you. I only hope you know you won’t be able to tease me. I’ve been waiting too long. You’ll have to get straight to business.”  
  
“That sounds like a set-up. You get to tease—I don’t.”  
  
Miranda waved her hand as she stood and took the wine from its ice. “You can go first next time and tease all you want.”   
  
“I’ll hold you to that.”  
  
“Feel free,” she said as she poured them two glasses. Andy admired the curves and lines of her lover’s body even as she did. Middle-aged she might be but she was perfect in her eyes. Absolutely perfect.  
  
Andy sat up as Miranda took a seat on the bed, handed her a glass and offered her glass, “To us.”  
  
Andy touch her glass to her lover’s, “To us.”  
  
Andy took a sip and then a deeper swallow, “Wow, Miranda, that’s fantastic. Wait—why am I surprised?”  
  
“You should never, ever be surprised from now on. You will always have the best I can give you.”  
  
“The best you can give me is you.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“I’m not. Take my glass,“ she said handing it to Miranda. Miranda took it and placed both on her bedside table as Andy said, “back to bed.”  
  
As Miranda reclined, her heart fluttered at the look in her lover’s eyes. “I won’t tease, I promise. Just let me love you a little.”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
Andy suddenly jumped up, went to her bag, rummaged through it, then pulled out a band so she could pull back her hair.  
  
Andy came back to the bed and said, “Sit up a little.” Miranda did and Andy placed two pillows under her back. “I’m pulling my hair back so you can watch me love you.”  
  
Miranda didn’t really know what to think or say, so she abandoned herself to the fact that now Andy was straddling her stomach.  
  
She watched as Andy proceeded to lick one breast like an ice cream cone or something similarly delicious. Her breath shortened. It was as deeply an erotic sight as she’d ever seen and when Andy pulled her nipple into her beautiful mouth, Miranda couldn’t help but moan. The sight and the feeling made her light-headed but she was riveted to the sight, of that mouth, of that body, of Andy’s beautiful hips, her full breasts nearly touching her body.  Andy pulled her breast deep into her mouth and laved it with her tongue. When she finally released it, Miranda felt released from a bondage that, instantly, began again with her other breast.  
  
She heard her own cries, her own entreaties and could scarcely believe she was making them before Andy released her again.  
  
Andy looked into her eyes, “No more teasing. Spread your legs and watch.”  
  
As Andy situated herself between Miranda’s legs, the older women found she had no vocabulary, either literal or emotional, for how she felt. She wanted Andy in a way she’d never wanted anything or anyone in her life, which was equally thrilling and frightening to her.  
  
She stifled a gasp as she watched Andy rub her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her chin over her pubic hair.  And then those brown eyes met hers and Miranda eyes welled as Andy said, mirroring her thoughts, “I have never wanted anything or anyone as much as I want you.” She gave her mound a closed-mouth kiss. “Never, ever doubt that.”  
  
Miranda managed to say, “Yes. Please.”  
  
“No, my darling,” Andy said as she kissed Miranda’s inner thighs. “I’m the one who’s grateful. And you will always be welcome to everything I can give you.”  
  
Andy kissed her and kissed her but it seemed like forever before she used the flat of her tongue to run entirely through her wetness.  
  
Miranda groaned, “Oh, God!”  
  
Andy kissed that wetness again, smirked and said, “No, I’m not God, but that’s certainly an elaborate compliment, sweetheart.”  
  
Miranda exhaled testily, “Of all the lovers to find—a comedian.” Miranda tapped her gently on the head and said in a stern tone, “Back to work, Andrea.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.” And back to work she went, enjoying and exploring her lover’s body, her lovely taste and smell, her every reaction. And when she brought her successfully to climax, she could not have been more thrilled. She basked in Miranda’s wetness for a few minutes and then clambered up to kiss her, asking “So?”  
  
Miranda kissed her deeply again, then replied “So what?”  
  
“Do I have a future in the lesbian league?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
Andy’s face fell.  
  
“There is no league in our lives—there are no teams. There are no other players. You have me. And I have you. You have no future with other lesbians. You have a future with me. Only me.”  
  
Andy rested her forehead on Miranda’s, “Only you can make complete and possessive enthrallment sexy.”  
  
“It’s only sexy if it’s mutual. And it is. Completely”  
  
Andy pecked Miranda’s lips, “I’m hungry.”  
  
“What a surprise. Yes, of course you are. I ordered sushi, sashimi and sake for us—it’s downstairs.”  
  
“Sushi? Do I sense a theme?”  
  
Miranda narrowed her eyes, “I won’t have such cheap raillery.”  
  
“Of course not, Miranda.”  
  
“And none of that, either.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That faux-submissiveness.”  
  
As Andy sat up, she laughed, “Faux? You’ve got to be kidding me—I’m so the bottom here and we both know it.”  
  
Miranda stood and reached for her robe, “And you’re already complaining.”  
  
“Not a bit—just a point. Do I get a robe?”  
  
“No, of course not. You eat naked.”  
  
“Miranda.”  
  
“Do you need something lighter or heavier—I think heavier. You’re cold-natured, aren’t you?”  
  
“How’d you—“  
  
“I’m not an imbecile.” Miranda went into her closet and brought out the softest, most luxurious robe that could be loosely classified as ‘terry-cloth’ that Andy had ever seen. “Put this on, love.”  
  
Andy put it on and Miranda closed it around her and tied the belt gently around her waist. She kissed her and then stroked her cheek.  
  
“Andrea, beside the birth of my children, and this is saying something, you are the most amazing experience I’ve ever had in my life. I never, ever want this, or us, to end."  
  
Before Andy could respond, Miranda turned and Andy followed her, entirely overwhelmed by the sentiment and entirely in agreement.

* * *

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

Andy thought, beside a nice cozy nap, there were few things more lovely than sharing a meal after making love. She’d discovered this with Nate but she would have chewed her hand off rather than say it aloud to Miranda. She acknowledged to herself, with a feeling of ingratitude, that sharing even a bowl of cereal with Miranda would have made all of Nate’s well-intentioned and very loving culinary pyrotechnics on her behalf pale in comparison. He was such a great guy. But he wasn’t Miranda.  
  
As it was, they sat side by side and consumed their sushi, Miranda with a great deal more appetite than Andy had ever seen in her former employer, which she enjoyably noted without saying a word. It took a bit longer than usual to eat because Miranda couldn’t seem to keep her hands off her, showing a fondness for running her fingers through her hair or rubbing her back gently or letting her left hand creep up her robe-covered thigh, even as she offered bits of sashimi or seaweed salad with the chopsticks in her right. All in all, it was a tremendously sensual combination, because she really loved food and loved Miranda even more.  
  
After this particularly satisfying meal the size of which Andy was pretty sure Miranda hadn’t consumed in some time, they sat finishing their warm sake and talking about almost nothing. Just sitting in bathrobes in Miranda’s kitchen gave Andy the most surreal and giddiest ‘I’ve got a secret!’ feeling she’d had since she was a very young girl. Except the secret was right in front of her and was no secret to either of them. And she certainly didn’t feel girlish when Miranda leaned forward and kissed her, a scorching sake-flavored kiss that, combined with the hand gently caressing her thigh, made Andy suddenly break the kiss and say, “Bed. Now.”  
  
“No. Bathtub, now.”  
  
“Bathtub? A bath? C’mon, Miranda.”  
  
The woman was unperturbed, “Are you saying you don’t want to fill my Jacuzzi with steaming hot water and deliciously fragrant bath oils and feel our bodies sliding over each as we bathe?” She leaned forward and kissed the spot below Andy’s ear and whispered, “You don’t want to feel our warm breasts rubbing against each other as we kiss?”  
  
“Well, if you’re going to put it like that.”  
  
“Yes. I’ll put it like that.” She offered her hand Andy followed her up the stairs.  
  
After a few minutes, while banished from the bathroom, Andy was allowed into another romantic room. The Jacuzzi was surrounded by candlelight; the water smelled like roses, like gardenias, like every beautiful flower on Earth.  
  
Miranda had set out numerous towels and even more numerous washcloths.  
  
Eyeing them, Andy joked, “I’m not that big, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda doffed her gown and stepped into the tub, “Follow me, love.”  
  
Andy did and found the temperature and the fragrance of the water heavenly.  
  
And was immediately surprised to find Miranda soaping one of her silky washcloths with fragrant soap. Instead of the sex she expected, she found she was really going to get a bath. A very sweet bath but undeniably a bath. Miranda very gently, almost reverently washed her face, and Andy laughed when she washed her ears.  
  
“Aw, man. I can tell you’re a mom.”  
  
Miranda’s lips quirked, “Yes. Ears get dirty too, young lady.”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
As Miranda tenderly washed her neck and shoulders, Andy knew she hadn’t been washed this way since she was a baby.  Miranda was treating her as if she were small and new and precious and Andy suddenly felt tears well in her eyes. “You’re so perfect, Miranda.”  
  
“So they say.” She ran a soapy cloth down Andy’s arm. “But you know better now, don’t you?”  
  
“No—now I know it’s true.”  
  
Miranda almost smiled, but not quite. “Sweet talk will not get you out of having a complete bath.”  
  
“I’m all yours.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, you are.”  
  
Miranda washed her top half completely, then made her stand up and, as she washed between her legs, asked, “Are you sore?”  
  
The gentle sudsy washcloth didn’t change the fact, “Very.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Andy looked down at her lover and agreed. “It is,” Andy said, ”good, I mean.“  
  
When she sat, she smiled, “Your turn now?”

* * *

“Of course. And as you wash me, you can tell me everything.”  
  
As Andy soaped a washcloth, she asked, “Everything about what?”  
  
“Why it’s good to be sore. I have my ideas—I want to hear yours’.”  
  
Andy rubbed the fragrant soap into another insanely soft washcloth. “You’ll have to hear the story of my losing my virginity. You up for that?” She gently washed Miranda’s face as the woman nodded.  
  
“I was always sort of a geek at high school. I’m sure you’ll be astonished to know I wasn’t always the stunningly dressed creature you hired.”  
  
“Of course. The mind reels."  
  
“Anyway, smart-ass, my friend Mike was sort of a life-line for me. He was my best friend and really cute but not quite cute enough for high school, if you know what I mean—if you…” she smirked, “vaguely remember high school.”  
  
Miranda gave her a semi-hard pinch.  
  
“Ouch!” Andy laughed. “Okay. Sorry. Anyway we were seniors and virgins and we didn’t want to be total losers and graduate that way so we decided to do it together. Who better but your best friend—and somebody who wouldn’t laugh if you were totally awful at it?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
“So one night, the coast was clear because my parents were out and my brother Sam had gone to the movies. This gives you an idea about just how lame we were—my parents never thought twice about leaving me alone with Mike. So we kissed for awhile, which made us both laugh because— _hello!_ —kissing best friend! After a bit of kissing and laughing, we got undressed and I could see his first thought was breasts! Real breasts! My first thought was that his penis was both the ugliest and most fascinating thing I’d ever seen in my life.”  
  
Andy washed Miranda’s shoulders, “I really liked what he was doing to my breasts and I loved the way his penis felt and that it jumped when I touched it, and that was all pretty hot. I remember being incredibly wet, I think mainly because of the idea of what we were about to do rather than him, to be honest. And we both laughed when just putting the condom on him almost finished him off. After a few tries, when he finally managed to slip it into me, it was weird to have another person inside me but it didn’t hurt or anything.”  
  
Andy chewed her lower lip, “Mostly because I’d had, to be perfectly truthful, more than a bit of masturbation experience and there was no hymen to worry about. The whole thing took about a minute, God bless him. But I don’t want to sell the poor guy short—he was totally willing to help me out and I showed him how to use his hand on me.”  
  
“At which point I’m sure he had another erection.”  
  
“Sure did. And that was my first hand job.”  
  
“Men. It takes them years to learn to use their equipment.” Miranda said, with gentle conviction, “You’re entirely correct. God bless and help them. Regardless, I’m happy to hear you lost your virginity to someone who loved you.”  
  
Andy smiled. “I really did. He loved me. And I loved him right back. I wouldn’t trade Mike for the world. We’re still long-distance friends. He’s the greatest.”  
   
She became more reflective as she washed Miranda’s torso. “But I remember looking at myself in the mirror that night. Something so important and I didn't feel any different. I looked into my eyes and nothing had changed. Nothing at all.”  
  
She ran a warm hand over Miranda’s cheek, “When I look in the mirror tonight, though, I’ll be sore and I know something in my eyes will have changed.”  
  
Miranda kissed her deeply, deliriously, then said. “Yes.” That was her sole comment.  
  
Yes, Andy thought. Absolutely. Yes.

* * *

  
After the gentleness of their exchange, Andy wasn’t surprised that Miranda just held her, sweetly held her, and so long in that deliciously hot and fragrant water that she suddenly yawned.  
  
Miranda chuckled, “I knew it. I knew you’d give in first.”  
  
Andy growled, “You set me up—this situation is custom made for nap-time.”  
  
“Maybe we should sleep, then.”  
  
“I don’t want to. I want to---“  
  
“Yes, yes. I want to, as well. Let’s get into bed. We have all of tomorrow to do what we want to. I’m not going away, Andrea.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
They brushed their teeth, side by side, and Andy could see that Miranda was watching her as she looked into the mirror.  
  
Miranda, more daintily than Andy could ever have imagined possible, spat her toothpaste into the sink and asked, “What do you see?”  
  
Andy looked into her own eyes reflected in the mirror and answered truthfully, “Not a girl. A woman. Your woman.”  
  
Miranda nodded. “Come to bed, Andrea.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda,” she said in her most ludicrously submissive tone.  
  
“Stop that.”  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
“You know what. Fuck you.”  
  
“Yes. Tomorrow morning. Promise.”  
  
“You’re asking for it but it won’t work. I’m very fatigued. Remember, I’m twice your age.”  
  
“And, therefore, twice as hot.”  
  
“That won’t work either.”  
  
“It does, and you know it.”  
  
“If it did, you’d be the last to know.”  
  
“If I gave a curious swipe between your legs, what would that tell me? I know you’re wet, aren’t you?”  
  
Miranda’s face was ostensibly angry—but she blushed. Andy could very easily read it as she slipped into bed.  
  
“It would tell you that you could sleep in the guest room tonight.”  
  
Andy relented. “Geesh. Sorry. Can I hold you?”  
  
Miranda huffed, then said, “I suppose. If you must.”  
  
“Cool.” Andy said, almost laughing as she wrapped her arms around Miranda’s naked body and knew nothing, nothing on Earth could equal this feeling.  
  
“Mine,” she said.  
  
“Yes,” Miranda whispered.

* * *

Miranda was an insomniac, which would have been no surprise to anyone who knew her, but it was a surprise to her to find how little she minded waking up so often with a beautiful woman in her arms. They had somehow changed positions in their sleep, with Miranda’s face now nestled in Andy’s hair.  
  
Life was curious, she thought, deeply inhaling Andy’s scent and the vague scent of their sex, despite their bathing. She had nothing emotionally upon which to base her complete relaxation with and surrender to this woman. Surrender to her feelings, surrender to how Andy smelled and felt in her arms. She ran a gentle hand over the younger woman’s hip, which only registered a quiet and completely sleeping but pleased, “Hmmm,” from her lover.  
  
Andy slept hard—like wood, like timber, which would have been no surprise to anyone who knew her. Miranda smiled into Andy’s hair. Their relationship might take a lifetime to figure out. And she wouldn’t mind that.

* * *

Miranda woke first, naturally. They’d changed positions again and she attempted to extricate herself from Andy’s grip, which was rather more difficult than it might have seemed. The young woman didn’t wake up but she frowned and made sounds of displeasure.  
  
Miranda whispered, “Darling—I’m just going to make some coffee—keep resting.” She grabbed a long body pillow from the foot of the bed and helped Andy wrap herself around it, “There you go. Hug this for me—I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Andy didn’t look very happy, even in her sleep, but she obediently hugged the pillow tightly.  
  
Some minutes later, Miranda brought a tray of coffee and croissants to their room and found a slumbering Andy, who’d shed all her cover and sheets.  
  
She placed the tray on her bedside table and sat in the chair by the bed. She gazed at the scene before her and felt her heart begin to beat more quickly. Andy was wrapped around the body pillow, her leg thrown over it. Her sleepy, dreaming face was so lovely, her eyelashes so full, hair so dark and skin so pale. One of her breasts was a gorgeous, pouting swelling on top of the pillow. Her beautiful hip, the gorgeous curve of her ass were both so delicious. She stood and walked around the bed and took in the dark, beautiful place between her lover’s legs and she felt a deep throbbing between her own legs.  
  
She took off her robe and climbed into the bed, “Andrea?”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Turn over, darling. I need you.”  
  
As Miranda could have predicted, this almost woke her lover. “Need me? Wh…what? Are you okay, honey?”  
  
“Perfectly fine. Don’t worry. Turn over on your back. Can I touch you?”  
  
Andy was still nearly completely asleep but semi-smiled, “Of course you can. You have the Andy-Disney all-access pass.”  
  
Andy turned on her back and only vaguely seemed to notice that Miranda spread her legs.  
  
She did notice and her eyes flew open in an instant, however, when Miranda applied her hot, wet mouth between her legs.  
  
She moaned, “Oh my God.”  
  
Miranda didn’t answer because she was rubbing her face between her lover’s legs as if she could never get enough. Surprising but pleasant awakening that it was, Andy arched her back, spread her legs more widely, and gently ran her fingers through Miranda’s hair.  
  
She was soon as wet as she could remember being. She’d never had a lover seem to take such joy in pleasuring her this way. Miranda sucked and licked and kissed her, groaning and making clearly audible sounds in her incredible wetness that were as hot as they were almost truly embarrassing. Making her come didn’t seem to be the point—devouring her was. And Andy found she didn’t care.  
  
It went on for what seemed like many pleasant, unbelievably soaking wet forevers but when Miranda finally relented and finally, finally concentrated on her clit, Andy cried out when she climaxed.  
  
Miranda kissed her gently and softly through the afterglow, then wiped her face on Andy’s stomach. She climbed up, took the woman into her arms and asked, “Now, ready for some coffee?”  
  
Andy shouted with laughter.

* * *

  
It was cold outside and one of those days that you knew it without even looking outdoors. They took their croissants and coffee to Miranda’s study, where she started a fire in her fireplace that was both lovely and homey. The fragrant smell of burning wood and the warmth, inside the room and emotionally, made Andy’s heart glow.  
  
They talked about work and about their families and it was all just….very, very pleasant. It felt real and substantial. A real relationship—not just a physical or short-term thing.  
  
Andy’s heart was buzzing. But her body was glowing as well, because Miranda persisted in wearing that ludicrously short robe, which she was fairly certain was by design and not an afterthought. She personally often dressed with almost no thought at all; she knew Miranda always dressed intentionally.  
  
Finally, Andy had had it. Miranda had crossed to put her coffee cup on the tray and suddenly found Andy right behind her.  
  
Andy hugged her and kissed her neck, “You’ve been teasing me all morning.”  
  
Miranda’s voice was tremulous, “I think not. I believe I did just the oppo—“  
  
“No. I’m not talking about your eating me, which was beyond spectacular, by the way. I’m talking about your ass, Miranda.”  Andy reached down, pulled the slim cloth up and roughly grasped one of Miranda’s soft ass cheeks. Miranda pulled in a ragged breath.  
  
“You’ve been begging for it in this robe all morning, haven’t you?”  
  
“Begging for what?”  
  
Andy bent her forward over the leather chair in front of her and whispered, “Begging to be fucked.”  
  
Miranda only nodded, which in their positions Andy could barely see but she knew the truth without the acknowledgement.  
  
She ran her fingers between Miranda’s legs and found a wetness that made her ache. “You want to be fucked, don’t you, Miranda?”  
  
There was hesitation and then a whispered, “Yes.”  
  
“Ask me, “ Andy said as she roughly squeezed Miranda’s ass cheeks.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Please what?” Andy squeezed harder—so hard she knew she’d mark her. Miranda’s ass was really one of the hottest things she’d ever felt.  
  
“Please fuck me.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.” Andy grinned as she peeled the woman’s robe off, as well as her own, so that Miranda could feel her body against hers even as she swirled two fingers from behind and then very quickly entered her hot, tight wetness. Miranda hissed as Andy plunged into her and then begged, “More. Please—more.” Andy added a third finger and the woman begged again, “Hard—as hard as you can.”  
  
Andy complied and, after a few moments, deeply enjoyed the feeling of her sweating swollen breasts brushing Miranda’s sweating back as she fucked her. The smell of the fire, the warmth of the room, Miranda’s sex, their heat, made Andy feel nearly delirious. The angle wasn’t good for one thing, though. “Can you help me with your clit, baby?”  
  
“I won’t need to if you fuck me hard enough.”  
  
So Andy fucked her ferociously and just as she felt like she was going to explode, she heard and felt her woman climax under her. And then she leaned forward, grateful for that release, and kissed her neck, her back.   
  
“God, I love you, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda shakily stood and said, “If I can walk, I’ll love you, too.”  
  
They smiled at each other and gave each other a sticky kiss.  
  
“More coffee.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
They looked into each other’s eyes. Perfect.

* * *

  
Later, the idea of a shower provided another glimpse into the mystery that was still Miranda.  
  
“You take one first,” she’d said, “and then I will.”  
  
“Why can’t we take one together?”  
  
Miranda’s face was suddenly glacial. “Because I prefer to shower alone.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Miranda’s face was adamantine. “Are you deaf? Because I prefer it. Is that so hard to understand?”  
  
Andy nodded and her brown eyes welled and drooped as if Miranda had literally kicked her as viciously as she could. “Okay, Miranda. I’m sorry. Pushing. Stupid. Sorry.”  
  
Miranda chewed her lip, “Why is this important?”  
  
Andy looked at her with surprise but softly replied, “I don’t know. Why is it? You’re my lover. Why can’t we shower together?”  
  
“Why must we? It’s vulgar.”  
  
“Is it? Is it really? We took a bath together. I’m sorry. Maybe I don’t really understand the difference.”  
  
Miranda sat in a defeated heap on her bed, “For the love of God. You ask me everything, don’t you? I don’t tell people some things. I don’t tell anyone. When are you going to hurt me with what I tell you?”  
  
Andy dropped at her feet and gently cupped Miranda’s knees in her hands, “Never. Never in my life. I’m not people. I’m your Andy. You know that. You have to know that.”  
  
Miranda looked at her as if she were the most poisonous snake in the world. But a poisonous snake with very big brown eyes. “Very well. But I warn you that it is ludicrous and if you repeat it, you will no longer exist to me. I mean that sincerely.” Her eyes were hard and serious.   
  
Andy nodded. “I’ll take whatever you tell me to my grave.”  
  
Miranda sighed and said, “I was blonde until about the age of 22 and then, quite suddenly, I began to go gray. And much to my delight at that age, as you can probably imagine. By the age of 29 my hair was the color it is now. I’d just married John, just joined Runway and my hairdresser Charles told me I finally needed a hairstyle that was as fierce as he thought I was.”  
  
Her eyes softened, “He’s gone now—this was back in the days when AIDS killed swiftly. He took his time cutting it, but didn’t let me see what he was doing. He dried it, styled it and I can remember him smiling even as he did it. He’d been cutting my hair for years and I could see by his expression that he thought this—this—was perfect for me. And when he was finished, he turned me around in the chair and it was what you see now.”  
  
She took a deep breath, “He was a true artist. I knew that this person looking back at me was the real Miranda Priestly. He saw who I was and I knew, at that moment, I would never have any other hairstyle. If you see me without it, I would feel like you’re seeing Samson without his hair, without his strength. It’s a sort of talisman to me, if you will. If you think that’s stupid, so be it.”  
  
Andy hesitated for a long time. “It’s not stupid. It’s beautiful. And I’d be honored if you’d let your hair down with me. It’s only me—someone who loves you so dearly. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I’m not Delilah, Miranda.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
Andy smiled,  “Trust me. Please.”  
  
So they took a shower together in Miranda’s enormous shower. There were showerheads everywhere and many shower seats built into the walls. You could almost hold a board meeting in the place. Andy forced the idea of Irv Ravitz in one of the seats out of her mind. Without her famous coif, Miranda did, indeed, look more delicate and fragile than Andy had ever seen her. She washed Andy’s hair and allowed Andy to wash hers, which moved the young woman so much that she had to kiss her deeply again and again to express herself. Which led to Miranda’s reaching between her legs, “Are you too sore to have me inside you?”   
  
“Never.”  
  
Miranda slipped two fingers gently into Andy and Andy reciprocated. They gently thrust into each other, luxuriating in the feel of their breasts rubbing together and kissing as the warm water ran over their bodies. It was only the work of a few minutes before that part of the shower was over.  
  
After their shower, she watched with wonder as Miranda recreated her hairstyle, Andy glowing with appreciation, “That’s about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“You’re very young.”  
  
“I’m very much in love.”  
  
Miranda kissed her forehead, “That, too. Time to dry your hair and then some lunch.”  
  
“I need a nap.”  
  
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Youth.”  
  
“What? We’ve had fantastic sex twice today and a shower and I feel warm and cozy—why not have a nap? It’s too early for lunch.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes narrowed but Andy remained firm. “I want to hold your naked body next to mine for about an hour—what’s wrong with that?”  
  
Admittedly, that wasn’t such a bad proposition but Miranda was quite sure, yet again, this nap business wouldn’t work. She was asleep before Andy was, much to her amused delight.

* * *

  
When they woke, it really was about time for lunch.  
  
“Andrea, I believe there’s some roast beef in the refrigerator—I seem to remember you’ll eat anything that’s not moving.”  
  
“Yes. And one woman who does.”  
  
Miranda was amused, Andy could tell, although nothing in her face changed. “Would you please make me a half sandwich with just a tiny bit of horseradish? I need to check my mail. And Andy—we’re having eight courses at dinner tonight so you might want to keep your lunch light, as well.”  
  
“Eight?!”  
  
“Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The number after seven and before nine? Lunch?”  
  
“Right away, Miranda.”  
  
“Stop that,” the woman said as she went to retrieve her mail.  
  
Andy smiled as she made a full roast beef sandwich, then sliced it in half and placed it on two plates. A pickle couldn’t hurt anyone, she thought, seeing kosher dills in the door.  
  
Pellegrino.  Lunch was served.  
  
When Miranda sat down, she had an impressive pile of mail, “I’m sorry but I just need to make sure there’s nothing pressing or depressingly legal in this.”  
  
“Sure. No problem.”  
  
Miranda ate part of her sandwich, then took a bite of pickle. And then she felt, really felt, Andy’s eyes on her. She looked up. “What?”  
  
“Take another bite of pickle.”  
  
Blue eyes looked suspiciously from the pickle in her hand to Andy. “Why?”  
  
Andy looked a bit sheepish, “I’ve just never seen you eat anything crunchy—it’s really cute.”  
  
Miranda closed her eyes as if counting to five. “I’ll never eat another crunchy thing as long as I live.”  
  
“Oh, no. Please. Really—it’s like seeing the silkiest, sexiest and sweetest rabbit eat something. C’mon. Do it for me?”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy as if she were speaking Urdu. “You truly believe I’m going to eat a pickle in front of you so that you can laugh at me?”  
  
Andy face clouded over, “No—I’d never laugh at you. So I can adore you even more than I already do.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Miranda took a violent bite of pickle and crunched it ostentatiously. “Satisfied?”  
  
“Immensely,” Andy smiled, leaned over and kissed Miranda’s cheek and the older woman had to admit the girl looked almost lovesick. “You are the most amazing person ever.”  
  
Miranda sniffed and flipped through her mail. “I assume you’d have sex with me non-stop if I were constantly eating crudite?”  
  
“I’d have sex with you constantly no matter what. I think we’ve established that.”  
  
Miranda didn’t look up from her mail but she did put a hand on Andy’s forearm. “Yes. I love making love with you, too.”  
  
Andy grinned and asked, “Eight courses, huh? Where are we going?”  
  
“Le Bernardin. We’ll have Eric’s tasting menu with its wine pairing.”  
  
Even Andy knew this restaurant. Nate had always, desperately wanted to eat there but it was wildly, insanely too expensive for them.  
  
“Two questions?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
“Isn’t that a bit out there? I mean, it’s a really…obvious restaurant, right? People will certainly notice us there together.”  
  
Miranda opened a letter and perused it as she said, “I don’t believe even my most vicious detractors think that I don’t eat. I am human. Why not have dinner with a friend?”  
  
“But it’s so expensive, Miranda.”  
  
“That shouldn’t concern you. We’re not going dutch.”  
  
“But, I mean, don’t you think it’s just a bit much to spend on dinner?”  
  
Miranda looked up and the expression on her face chilled Andy, as did her voice. “I’m a very wealthy woman. Why shouldn’t I spend my money as I like?”  
  
As Andy tried to formulate a response, Miranda answered for her, “Oh, no. Let me answer that for you. It’s because you think I should eat saltines and peanut butter at home so I can fund soup kitchens or however else it is that you think my money should be spent. Am I correct?”  
  
Andy shrugged and semi-nodded, feeling suddenly caught-out and a bit obvious.  
  
“I see. What do you know about the non-profit called The Smile Train?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Would it surprise you to know, through that agency, I finance 200 American and foreign children’s cleft palate surgeries every year?”  
  
Andy’s eyes widened. “You do? Really? Wow! That’s so….why?”  
  
Miranda’s eyes were matter of fact. “Why? Because not every child can be beautiful but every child who can have a normal face and smile should have both, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Oh—and can you imagine how much it will cost to send Juan Carlo to Dalton through high school?  I won’t detail any of my other annual charitable contributions that are worth many, many times your salary, but I do make them. Having had to explain myself, which is frankly insulting, do I now have your permission to spend my own money on our dinner tonight?”  
  
“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m tremendously disappointed in you, Andrea.”  
  
Miranda’s tone told Andy that she wasn’t disappointed. Her feelings were hurt. Very, very, very hurt. Which meant trouble.  
  
“I’m sorry, Miranda, I—“  
  
“I’m not finished, Andrea. This is the second time that you’ve done this. You’ve implied that I live an existence entirely removed from real life and that, indeed, I know nothing of it. And now you’ve questioned my right to spend my income as I see fit. I love you very dearly but I will not have a relationship with a person who thinks of me in the ways your ‘delicate’ insinuations suggest. I understand that you’re young and still have that wide-eyed view of the world that tells you no wealthy person can possibly have a….yacht, let’s say, without taking food out of the mouths of the poor. Right?”  
  
Her tone was scathing, “Which is borderline drooling idiocy if one has even the most basic understanding of economics. And, believe me, I have a far, far better understanding than that. Bottom line. If you think it’s fun to fuck someone that you, in your heart of hearts, believe is a snotty, snobby, out-of-touch upper-class bitch but don’t like or approve of the other things that come with it, you know the way to the door.”  
  
She turned back to her mail.  
  
Andy tried to inhale, failed, and tried again, drawing a stifled breath. She felt like she had in grade school when someone had accidentally hit her hard in the stomach while playing Red Rover. Like a gasping fish, unable to breathe on dry land. She watched as tears immediately fell onto her plate. She looked down at her plate, hating her tears, her half eaten pickle, her half eaten sandwich, herself most of all.  
  
She’d almost forgotten that Miranda could be this way. Was this way. Could become this way at the drop of a hat. What had the woman said? If you hurt her, she hurt you right back?  Boy, could she. Boy, did she. She had never, in all her 25 years, felt pain like this.  
  
Miranda, on the other hand, couldn’t even see what she was reading. She was literally seeing red. She had never been so equally angry at another person and herself. She wanted to do things she had never in her life wanted to do—throw things. Hit Andy. Hit herself. Scream. She’d only wanted to treat Andy to a beautiful dinner, to make her happy. Why did she always fail at this? Why did she always ruin things? But she always did. She always did and the sound of Andy’s crying made her even more volcanically furious with herself, but she heard words she didn’t even mean come out of her mouth, “Stop sniveling. Even you should know that it doesn’t exactly engender affection in me.”  
  
Andy sniffed violently, “I’m not sniveling. I’m crying.”  
  
“Cry elsewhere, then. I have four floors—or outside on your way home, if you prefer.” Miranda said, scarcely believing she could say something so harsh to someone she loved so much.  
  
“Right. Alright. Look at me.”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy’s already tear-swollen face, into her deep brown eyes and felt a piercing jolt of agony. “I’m 25 years old. You’re right. I don’t know anything about economics. You were working before I was born. Four years ago, I was basically eating only ramen in college because I couldn’t afford anything else and I didn’t want to ask my family for money. Sticker shock for me was paying more than $20 for a sweater. What do I know? Not much.”  
  
She sniffled, “I know I love you, but you don’t seem to understand that jumping from basic sustenance to enjoying your wealth entirely blows my mind. You think I’m just judging you. But remember the person you were at 25 and jump to now without anything—anything at all—in between. If you really believe I think so little of you, when I believe I’ve shown you differently, you’re right—I do need to leave. But I am truly sorry I hurt your feelings. I wouldn’t do that for the world.”   
  
She stood, deciding to save what little dignity she felt she had left, “I hope it will at least satisfy you that no one has ever made me happier or hurt me as deeply as you have this weekend. I’ll go pack.”  
  
As Andy walked up Miranda’s staircase, she wiped her eyes and decided she could, at least, leave without giving the woman that last degrading vision of her tearful departure. Her heart felt pulped, but with each step, she found she would try not to care. A great entrance was lovely. A greater exit was better.  
  
Miranda felt the vessels throb in her temples. So this was it. Another love lost. For a very stupid reason. Another stupid fight—a fight she’d chosen to pick, yet again. But not another love. Her real love. Her only love.  
  
She gripped the table until her knuckles were white, hating herself more profoundly than she ever had, sitting for a full minute deciding whether her pride should win the day. She looked around the kitchen helplessly, then down at Andy’s plate, at her plate, with her half-eaten sandwich and pickle. What was she thinking?  
  
She ran up the stairs and found Andy shoving her few clothes into her overnight bag. “Don’t worry,” the younger woman said callously, “I won’t take anything that’s not mine.”  
  
“I would never think that of you,” Miranda said, as she sat on her bed, watching what felt like her life leaving her.  
  
“Yeah. Right,” Andy said.  
  
“Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”  
  
Andy paid no attention, and grabbed her toothbrush.  
  
“Please don’t leave.”  
  
The younger woman had had a few minutes to collect herself. “You don’t want me to leave only because you just don’t like being left—not because you really care or won’t hurt me like this again. You think I hurt you? You took advantage of me, Miranda. I didn’t understand something, and YOU KNEW IT, goddamnit! I’m younger than you are and you know things I don’t—and you fucking crushed me under your foot like a bug. But that doesn’t matter now. As you said, better to find this out now than later. But no big deal, right? Just a quick affair—just one of those things?”   
  
Andy looked around the room, “Alright. I think I’m out of here. Thanks for the memories.”  
  
She turned, fully expecting to walk out the door and out of Miranda’s life when she heard a howl of anguish the sort of which she’d never heard from any human being in her life and turned to see Miranda drop to the floor and pound on the Berber carpet, wailing. “ _NO!!_ Don’t leave me! Please! Please don’t leave me!”  
  
Andy stood, uncertain and so hurt and yet—this was _Miranda_. Miranda, who never raised her voice, who never really….  
  
Wailed. Wailing tears and almost indiscernible sounds of apology and sorrow and need and she was so small that Andy paused….and paused…watching Miranda wracked and almost sick with agony on the floor and finding she did not have it in her to leave. She dropped her bag and dropped to the floor, taking Miranda into her arms.  
  
“Oh, baby, no. Shhh. No. No. I’m not leaving. Of course not. How could I ever leave you?”  
  
Miranda held her and sobbed in a way Andy had never heard anyone cry—as if her heart was being torn out of her chest. “I don’t know how! I never have. I try and I try but I don’t know how!”  
  
“How what, my love?”  
  
“To be happy,” Miranda sobbed. “To make other people happy.”  
  
Nothing she might have said could have torn at Andy more. She murmured, “Oh angel, please don’t cry anymore. You make me very happy. We just had a fight—a silly fight. I’m not leaving.” Miranda held her in what felt like a death grip—she could barely draw breath.  
  
“You can’t,” Miranda sobbed, “I couldn’t ever…”  
  
“Yes. I know. I couldn’t either.”  Andy rocked her gently until Miranda seemed to regain some composure. “Okay. Why don’t we get in our bed and just relax a little. Wouldn’t that be good?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
After Andy helped her up, she began to remove her own clothes. “You, too. We’re lovers, aren’t we?”  
  
Miranda’s face, so swollen, so forlorn, brightened a bit and she removed her clothes as well.  
  
Andy pulled back the covers and pulled Miranda into her arms, “I can’t wait ‘til dinner, since I sorta ruined lunch.”  
  
Miranda kissed her throat and exhaled in relief. “You didn’t. I did. Don’t ever listen to me again.”  
  
“No. I want to listen. I want to hear. Just try to be gentler, darling. You’re the older one in our lives. You don’t have to hit me with the sledgehammer of your greater experience to get me to hear you. Just talk to me. I promise I’ll listen.”  
  
“It’s a deal.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
“Need anything?”  
  
“You.”  
  
“I’m right here, baby. Always will be.”  
  
Miranda sighed and fell asleep almost immediately, her sad, damp face nestled blissfully in Andy’s chest, which the younger woman considered the best make-up sex, even without the sex, she’d ever had in her life.

* * *

  
They woke up nearly an hour later, both a little shy of each other because of their earlier violent emotional outbursts.  
  
Andy was determined to put that to rest immediately. She sat up and smiled at Miranda, “What time are our reservations?”  
  
“6:30. I wanted it to be early enough to thoroughly enjoy our meal but early enough to thoroughly enjoy afterward.”  
  
Andy bent down and kissed her, “A woman after my own heart—actually, the woman of my heart. What am I wearing tonight?”  
  
Miranda’s eyebrows lifted, “What do you mean? I told you to bring something for dinner.”  
  
“Yep—but I knew you’d take the…shall we say…liberty of choosing something for me.”  
  
“Why would you think such a thing?”  
  
“I don’t know. Why would I? Tell me you didn’t and I’ll be wrong.”  
  
Miranda flushed a light color of pink.  
  
Andy giggled, “I rest my case.”  
  
“It’s just something I saw in The Closet. A vintage Dior cocktail dress. And the Christian--”  
  
“”Lous. Of course you did. I’m sure it’ll be perfect. And The Closet has a double meaning now, doesn’t it?”  
  
Miranda looked at her seriously, “It may now, but I won’t want that forever. Once the girls are used to you—once my divorce is final, everything can change.”  
  
“You’d acknowledge me?”  
  
“Of course I would.”  Miranda eyed her seriously, “Would you want that?”  
  
Before Andy could answer, Miranda said, “I’ll pull rank on you again, but gently. I am who I am. I have next to nothing to lose. I will be who I am and have what I have, regardless. My immediate family knows I’m involved with you. I can handle the press. Your family knows nothing about me and this will have an effect on your career. It can’t help but have. I can certainly help to mitigate that—but there it is.”  
  
It took Andy all of thirty seconds, “I’ll call my family after this weekend. I’ve never kept anything from them. And I don’t care what other people think.” Andy ran her hand through Miranda’s silver hair, her faith in their relationship oddly and entirely cemented by her lover’s reaction to its possible loss. Miranda loved her, really loved her. The details would probably always be difficult but the facts were immutable.  
  
They finally dressed in something like pajamas and watched an extremely ridiculous Lifetime movie before they dressed for dinner.  
  
“I would murder a man who treated me that way,” Miranda exclaimed as she pulled on her rather refined Gaultier, referring to the movie.  
  
“I think that’s the point. One of my friends told me her husband could always tell when she’d been watching the Lifetime channel—she was pissed at men. In general.”  
  
“Advertising.”  
  
They emerged and found each other gorgeous. Neither had applied lipstick, perhaps for the same reason. Andy kissed Miranda as deeply as she’d ever kissed anyone. Miranda came up for air and took her lipstick out, “If that’s an appetizer…”  
  
Andy’s eyes were so surprisingly scorching that Miranda took a deep breath. The girl constantly overwhelmed her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Smile Train is a real charity that gives children with cleft palate deformities in the US and other countries regular faces and smiles. It’s one of the most effective non-profit agencies in the world. They’ve shaved the cost of these life-transforming surgeries to $250 (when they’re usually something like $1400+) and 45 minutes per surgery. A child, a human, smiles for the rest of his or her life for $250. Worth every penny.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

After they applied their lipstick, smirking at each other, Andy assisted Miranda with her coat, something that still thrilled her. She put on her own and, as they stepped down the stairs outside and waited for the car that was running a few minutes late, decided to address the issue, “I’m very, very sorry we fought earlier, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda didn’t look at her but said, “I am, as well. If this can possibly work, you should remember a few things.” Her breath was visible in the cold air. She hesitated, then continued, “I will always fight with you—it’s my nature and you should learn not to take it too seriously. I will try, really try, not to be so cutting. That’s one of my gifts—knowing exactly how and where to cut. I usually enjoy it but I now know that I can’t and do not, at all, enjoy it with you. You’ll have to give me some leeway, for some time, if possible. Remember who and what I am. It will be hard for me.”  
  
“But know this one thing,” and now she did look into Andy’s eyes, “I have never, never in my life begged anyone to stay with me. Never. I might beg my children, should such a wildly improbable circumstance occur, but no one else. I hope you appreciate what that means. Even when my parents kicked me out with nothing but the clothes on my back when I was 17, I didn’t say one word. I wouldn’t dignify their rejection with a single word. Rejection is something I can not and never tolerate.” Her eyes welled, “With at least one adult exception, evidently.”  
   
Andy took this, yet again, incredible confession on Miranda’s part as what it was. Love. And she knew way better than to try to open the door the woman herself had introduced any wider and ask more about Miranda’s family.  
  
“Luckily, there’s never going to be any more rejection here. Promise.”  
  
“So you say. Promises fade.”  
  
“Not mine,” Andy said. “When have I ever let you down?”  
  
“Oh, let me see. That hurricane night?”  
  
Andy wanted to shake Miranda until her eyes rattled. “OhmyGod! I know you didn’t just say that! You were such a _complete bitch_ that night! Nothing—not even the Navy—the Air Force—the Coast Guard were flying. I know—because I tried.”  
  
Miranda sniffed.  
  
“And that Harry Potter? You totally deserved water-boarding for asking me to get you that. Which was basically what I went through to get it, by the way.”  
  
The woman sniffed again and spoke as if she’d heard nothing, one of her considerable skills. “Can I hold you to this? That you’ll try…to _deal_ with me? I understand that I might be considered difficult.”  
  
Andy stifled a laugh. “Difficult? That’s certainly a diplomatic word for it. But yes, without question, I can deal with you.”  
  
Miranda nodded. A real and believing nod. Not just a yes, whatever nod. This was a good sign, Andy decided.

Le Bernadin was everything Nate had suggested. It was gorgeous and everything she thought it’d be except it was buzzing, a bit louder than she’d imagined. A buzz that sort of hushed a little when Miranda walked in. Andy had always enjoyed this, actually, the fact that Miranda made a scene just with her appearance. As an assistant, that power had always been stimulating; as her lover, it was completely hot. Evidently, someone rushed somewhere and suddenly the chef, Eric Ripert himself, rushed out to air kiss Miranda’s cheeks.  
  
“Eric, how lovely to see you. Meet my very best friend Andrea Sachs—this is her first time dining with you.”  
  
Eric took her hand and kissed it. He was a very handsome graying man, with all of the _eclat_ of his culinary position. Andy blushed.  
  
“We’d both love your tasting menu with your divine wine pairing.”  
  
“You will have it,” he said in his lightly accented French English, “with perhaps a few items on the side you both may enjoy.”  
  
Miranda smiled a real smile, “You spoil me, Eric.”  
  
“Not at all. It is your patronage that spoils me and I would love to make a good impression on your beautiful friend.”  
  
Andy was entirely astonished when Miranda said, warmly, “As you know, your reputation is completely solid with me, but anything you do to spoil Andrea is worth more than anything on this Earth, Eric.”  
  
He looked slightly surprised but nodded politely as if he understood and rushed off.  
  
As they took their seats, basically, the best in the house, Andy said, “Jesus! Way to come out, Miranda.”  
  
“Eric is the soul of discretion.”  
  
“But I bet the rest of his staff aren’t.”  
  
Miranda laughed, quietly, “Fuck them. I’m having dinner with my darling.”  
  
Andy smiled, “That you are, love.”  
  
As Andy would have assumed, considering eight courses, each course was relatively small but insanely, intensely flavorful. Each wine was perfect and had been picked by, Miranda told her, one of the most accomplished sommeliers in the world. It certainly showed.  
  
Every so often, two bites of something off the menu appeared as a compliment from the chef and each time it was something akin to seafood ambrosia.  
  
As Andy ate, she thought she might never have such a fantastic meal again.  Miranda smiled at her and Andy adjusted her opinion.  Maybe she should get used to this.  
  
As they finished their dessert, Andy leaned forward and whispered, “This food and wine was pure sex, Miranda. Thank you so much.”  
  
Miranda smiled lightly and spoke even more quietly, “Oh, no. The pure sex is at home and I don’t know whether we’ll make it to the bed.”  
  
Andy felt a dull throb between her legs as she looked from her wine glass to Miranda’s cleavage.  
  
Miranda leaned closer and whispered, “You’re so well mannered when you eat but when we get home, you’ll leave your hair up just the way it is and I’ll watch you and I want to really hear you while you’re eating me. I want you to take your time and I want it to sound hot and very, very wet. Almost obscene. Do you think you can accommodate me? I’m wet right now thinking about your mouth.”  
  
Andy swallowed, nodded.  
  
“And then, sore as you are, I’m going to fuck you really hard. You know that, don’t you? Will you accommodate that?”  
  
“God yes,” Andy said.  
  
Miranda leaned back as the server approached, “Please tell Eric how much we appreciated his, and of course, your service—tell him it was the highlight of my weekend.”  
  
The server glowed with pleasure as he left and Miranda almost purred, like a cat, “One of many highlights of my weekend.”  
  
Andy, buzzing with delicious food and more delicious wine, knew she was up for further deliciousness.  
  
They stood for a few minutes outside the restaurant when Roy called and said he was changing a flat tire. Andy heard their exchange and said, “Poor guy. For God’s sake, tell him we’ll take a cab, Miranda.”  
  
She did but for a few minutes it looked like every cab in Manhattan had been transferred elsewhere.  
  
“This is ludicrous,” Miranda pouted.  
  
“It’s a fact of life, Miranda.”  
  
“Not my life.”  
  
“True enough.”  
  
“The longer I’m out here, I warn you—the more likely we’ll end up on _Page Six_.”  
  
“What? Miranda Priestly waits for cab?”  
  
“No. Ice Queen Frozen in Cab Queue or something similarly idiotic.”  
  
Andy leaned closer, “I’m pretty certain you’re no Ice Queen.”  
  
Miranda leaned even closer, “True, but I’ve found, to my surprise, that I am a Dragon Lady. It took eating only one fair young maiden to confirm that.”  
  
Andy laughed heartily as Miranda smiled. This was the picture that would hit _Page Six_ the next day.  
  
And then, finally, they were able to hail a cab.

* * *

When they entered Miranda’s townhouse, the woman locked the door, set the alarm and nearly attacked Andy as she took her coat off. Her hands were everywhere, but finally centered on Andy’s breasts.  
  
“Let’s go upstairs, Miranda. I’ll take everything off.”  
  
“Upstairs. Your dress off. Everything else on.”  
  
Miranda followed her up the stairs and Andy could almost feel the heat of the woman’s eyes on her body.  
  
She definitely felt the heat of Miranda’s fingers as she unzipped her dress, leaving in her lingerie, thigh highs and shoes. “Perfect,” Miranda said, “Just like that,” she said as she undressed completely and sat on the side of the bed. She put a pillow on the floor. “On your knees, beautiful.” Andy was only too happy to comply. The bedside lamp was on and Andy could see the glistening wetness between her lover’s legs. Miranda piled pillows behind her and said, “You know how I want it.”  
  
Andy buried her face in Miranda’s wetness and did as she’d been told. She sucked and licked and slurped at her lover’s wetness as Miranda watched and ran her fingers through her hair. “Louder—I want to hear how wet you’ve made me. Don’t you dare touch my clit. Let me hear you taking care of me.”  
  
Andy groaned and, the more loudly and wantonly she ate Miranda, the more she felt herself throbbing incredibly violently. Andy abandoned herself to the sounds and the flavor and warmth she could give Miranda and it was after only what seemed like a long while that Miranda relented, “Now, make me come, Andrea.”  
  
Andy moved to Miranda’s clit gratefully and made gentle, then more demanding circles over it. When Miranda came with a shout, it was everything Andy could do not to shout as well.  
  
She remained kneeling on the pillow, wiping her face on Miranda’s sticky thighs and quietly relaxing, enjoying the woman’s deliciousness.  
  
Miranda sat up slowly and caressed Andy’s damp cheek, “You are marvelous, my love. But now it’s time. Stand up.”  
  
Andy stood and kicked the pillow to the side. Miranda ran her fingers over her body but stopped at her panties. “These can go.” She took them off, very silkily, making Andy tremble, leaving her clad in her bra and thigh highs and shoes.  
  
“Take my place on the bed, lovely.”  
  
Andy sat on the side of the bed.  
  
“I want your legs on my shoulders.”  
  
Andy leaned back and put her legs in the air so that Miranda could position them as she wanted, Andy’s hosiery-clad calves on her shoulders. Miranda leaned forward and Andy could feel her hamstrings stretch.  
  
“I’m going to fuck you, Andy.”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
“It’s going to be deep and hard and I’m taking my time.”  
  
Another nod. She sucked in a breath as Miranda ran her fingers over her throbbing wetness.  
  
“So wet…and so very swollen already. Are you sure you want this?”  
  
“Please, yes. Please inside me.”  
  
“Say it.”  
  
“Fuck me, Miranda.”  
  
“How many fingers?”  
  
“You decide.”  
  
“I think three.”  
  
Andy nodded. She was panting, looking at Miranda’s flushed chest, her gorgeous breasts, knowing that any second she would be—  
  
Miranda thrust in without any real warning and Andy gasped.  
  
“Am I hurting you?”  
  
In truth it was sore but it was good…so good. “Sore—take your time at first.”  
  
“I’m going to. Depend upon it.”  Miranda moved very slowly, but with her legs in the air, it felt so deep to Andy. And good.  
  
“Yes,” Andy sighed.  
  
Miranda smiled and continued her long gentle strokes, which were only making Andy wetter. Miranda leaned forward, fucking her more deeply and used her other hand to tweak Andy’s nipples. “You like being fucked, don’t you, Andrea?”  
  
Andy’s eyes were closed, lost in the sensation. She nodded.  
  
“Look at me Andrea.”  
  
Andy looked into Miranda’s eyes and Miranda suddenly thrust much more forcefully. Andy gasped again.  
  
“Hard or soft? Yes or no, Andrea?”  
  
“Yes. And hard. As hard as you want.”  
  
Miranda’s smile was almost carnivorous and Andy closed her eyes again as Miranda pounded into her body with tremendous force and kept going…and kept going. Andy could hear the squishing sounds Miranda’s fingers made as she fucked her and she pulled her legs from Miranda’s shoulders and grasped her knees so that Miranda could be even deeper inside her. She heard Miranda groan with pleasure and opened her eyes to watch her lover’s breasts swaying as she fucked her and finally, as she used her other hand to circle her clit. It was the matter of thirty seconds before Andy climaxed violently.  
  
And then, no one could have been more gentle. Miranda softly withdrew, undressed Andy with great tenderness and drew her into the bed to hold her.  
  
Andy’s head was on Miranda’s chest and her breathing was soft and still. “What are you thinking?”  
  
Miranda smiled and kissed Andy’s sweaty head, “I’m thinking we’ve had food, wine and sex and that means a nap for you.”  
  
Andy grumbled, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  
  
“I say that like it’s a true thing. Rest, love.”  
  
Given the history of her life, Miranda thought, it should have been strange to have a sweaty, naked woman completely enwrap her body and fall immediately to sleep. But it wasn’t at all. It was bliss. Complete bliss. She gently pulled the covers over them and rested her cheek on Andy’s head.  
  
Hours later, Miranda awoke and forced Andy into the bathroom to remove her makeup and moisturize, just as she did.  
  
“It’s like sleeping with a Moisturizing Mussolini.”  
  
“Yes, darling. But when you’re my age, you’ll thank me.”  
  
As they rubbed the night crème into their skin, Miranda said softly, “When you’re my age, I’ll be seventy-five.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Geesh, I’m looking forward to it. You’ll finally need a nap before I do, thank God.”  
  
Right answer. Miranda’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps. We’ll see.”  
  
“That we will.” Andy gave the older woman a gentle pat on the behind, “Bedtime for Bonzo,”   
  
“You can’t possibly remember that film.”  
  
“I’m chock full of trivia, lady,” she said as she left the bathroom.  
  
Miranda looked into her own eyes in the mirror, something she actually rarely did.  
  
She’d found early on in life she nearly never liked what she found in them and it was easier to ignore what she hadn’t seen than change what she had. But she looked. Really looked. She was in love. In complete, besotted love.  
  
How bizarre.  
  
And yet not bizarre to join a woman, a woman half her age, in their bed and turn the lights out, feel that sleeping woman reaching for her and then breathing on her neck. She took a deep breath and realized, for the first time in her life, she was not hungry. At all. For anything. She was perfectly sated. No hunger, no need.  
  
How bizarre.  
  
She slept more peacefully than she ever had in her life.

* * *

  
When they woke the next morning, Miranda groaned deeply and Andy responded, sleepily. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I can’t stand this.”  
  
“What, baby?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Andy heard enough tension in her lover’s voice to shake her head to clear it. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“You won’t sleep with me tonight.”  
  
“I know—but I can come visit tomorrow.”  
  
“It’s not the same.”  
  
“I know.” Andy made soothing circles on Miranda’s stomach. “It’s okay. We can spend the weekend together again in two weeks, right?”  
  
“Does that seem soon enough to you?”  
  
“Of course not, but I think it’s too early for me to spend the night with the girls present, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes. But that doesn’t change anything.”  
  
“I’ll miss sleeping with you and waking up with you, too.”  
  
Miranda actually looked incredibly disconsolate, “This is unacceptable.”  
  
“It is, love, but I’m so happy you’re putting your children’s feelings before ours.”  
  
This seemed to do the trick. “Yes. Would you like pancakes for breakfast?”  
  
Andy laughed, “You can make pancakes?!”  
  
“I am a mother.”  
  
“I’m a pancake fiend.” Andy grabbed her hand, “After you, pancakes would be my second favorite thing to eat on Earth.”  
  
“There’s no reason to be vulgar.”  
  
Andy smiled gently, “Do you think anything about our being together is vulgar?”  
  
Miranda’s blue eyes bore into Andy’s. “Not one thing.”  
  
“Good. Then let’s never use that adjective about our love again and have some pancakes.”

* * *

  
Later, their goodbyes were sweet but Miranda felt bereft watching Andy walk down the street to the subway, since she refused to take the car.  
  
She didn’t know how to make this faster, if she could or even should make this faster. She wanted Andy in her bed every night. She wanted to wake up with her every morning. And she could not do that. Because she had children.  
  
When John and the girls arrived later in the day, he kissed her as he always did, Cassidy hugged her tightly and Caroline put on her best Priestly pout, despite Cassidy’s weekend efforts.  
  
“So.” Her voice dripping with condescension, obviously ribbing her. “How was your weekend?”  
  
“Good. We had Nobu on Friday, watched a ludicrous movie on Lifetime and went to dinner last night.”  
  
“Yeah—we saw you guys— _Page Six_. Isn’t Le Bernadin a bit expensive for an ex-assistant?”  
  
Neither John nor her children had ever seen her face change the way it did toward any one of them. “Caroline. You can like Andrea or not like her. But she is a fact in my life. You will never, ever use that snotty and dismissive tone about her in my presence again.”  
  
“Or what, Mom?” Caroline was relentless, having never been even remotely harshly spanked, even verbally.  
  
Cassidy suddenly nearly hated her sister and John wanted to smack her—a little.  
  
“Or I won’t give a damn what you think—and I’ll be disgusted with you for laughing and judging me for the person I love. If you can be polite, I’m happy. If you can’t, I. Don’t. Care. Go live with your father. You’ve been threatening that forever, haven’t you? Go—be happy elsewhere.”  
  
The entire Priestly clan gaped—this was not Mom. Definitely not Mom.   
  
Caroline’s lips trembled, “Andy means more to you than me?”  
  
Miranda’s eyes were steely. “I did not say that. But Andrea is part of my life. If you can’t accept that, do what you will. But I won’t put up with your snotty attitude toward her. I simply won’t. I would never allow a person to hurt you or Cassidy or your father. And I will not allow anyone to hurt Andrea, either." She looked back to her computer screen, “That’s all.”

* * *

  
And so Andrea continued to come to dinner, for lunches on weekends—to insert herself into the Priestly family life. It worked out reasonably well.  
  
The first time Andy stayed overnight in the Priestly home with both girls’ full blessing could be attributed entirely to “The Rat Episode.”  
  
Andy had arrived at the townhouse early for dinner on a Friday at 6:00 and Miranda was running late, which meant she had at least an hour alone with the twins. They were all accustomed enough to each other to go their own ways and she’d set up her laptop at the kitchen table, grabbed a Pellegrino and worked for a half hour when she heard a shrieking that made her stomach lurch. She jumped to her feet and rushed to meet two pie-eyed girls in the hall.  
  
“Holy sh….What’s wrong?!”  
  
“There’s a rat in our bathroom!”  
  
Both of the girls were shaking, so Andy immediately assumed a calm tone, “A rat? Or a really big mouse?”  
  
“A really big rat in our bathtub!” Cassidy said definitively as she clutched Caroline’s arm. “Andy, what are we gonna do? Should we put Patricia in there with it?”  
  
Andy thought of the lumbering St. Bernard and said immediately, “Are you kidding me?” _Slow down. Maybe not cool to dis the dog_. “I mean, that’s a really good idea and of course Patricia would catch it but in the meantime, the rat might bite her and make her sick.”  
  
The girls’ faces became even more ashen. They were truly terrified. It flashed through Andy’s mind that odd real-world stuff like this probably next to never happened to them in their rarefied existence. Mom in the tabloids—normal. Rat in the bathtub—horrifying.  
  
She wracked her brain. Should she call animal control? No. Page Six. “More than One Rat in Priestly Home.” Exterminators? At this hour on a Friday? God knows when they’d come. She looked at the girls again. They were beside themselves. Okay, Andy thought. Time to man-up. Or woman-up. Whatever. “I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I’ll catch it. Do you have a box with a lid on it?”  
  
“Like a cardboard box?”  
  
“No,” Andy said emphatically, “it’d chew through that in a couple of minutes.”  
  
Caroline shuddered before offering, “We could put it in a soup pot. It can’t chew through metal.”  
  
Andy patted Caroline, “Good idea, Car. Get me a soup pot and lid you think will hold it and Cass—do you guys have any…something like leather or heavy gardening gloves?”  
  
Andy was astonished when Cassidy nodded, “Yeah, Mom has them.”  
  
“Good. Go get them and I’ll get that rat.”  
  
“Aren’t you afraid?”  
  
“Nah, Car. My brother and I had a pet rat when we were kids. I like ‘em.”  
  
Both girls shivered as they ran to complete their tasks and in a few minutes they were ready.  
  
Armed with a soup pot the size of which she was astonished by, a matching lid, wearing very light gardening gloves and followed closely by two very frightened yet thrilled girls, Andy approached their upstairs bathroom. They could all hear ominous scratching and thumping sounds from within the room. She turned to them with a shaky laugh and smile and said, “Okay—uhmmm, you two have seen the Crocodile Hunter, right?”  
  
They nodded.  
  
“Well, just like good old Steve, I might make some noise in there while I catch him so don’t worry okay?”  
  
They nodded.  
  
Andy had no idea why she’d automatically call a rat a ‘he’ but she decided to save that for therapy. “It’s just a rat and I’ll catch him. He can’t really hurt me so everything will be cool, okay?”  
  
They nodded.  
  
“Oh. And I might say some bad words, so sorry.”  
  
“That’s okay. Be careful.” Cassidy whispered.  
  
Andy nodded. “Alright! Wish me luck and don’t open the door until I say so, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” they answered in unison.  
  
She slapped her gloved hands together, grabbed the pot, entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. And when she clapped eyes on what was trying, in vain, to get out of the bathtub, she felt adrenaline course through her. It was a rat alright—a rat the size of Wisconsin. A rat she imagined was the sort that ran through the streets of London during the plague years. She knew, with firm conviction, this rat was going to Fuck. Her. Up. before this was through.  
  
“Andy?” The voices behind the door were thin and anxiety-ridden. That sound reminded her. Right. That’s why she was doing this—for the kids.  
  
“I’m fine,” she called out with faux cheer. “Don’t worry.”  
  
The rat was having no success scrabbling up out of the deep Jacuzzi tub because, despite the length of its claws, it could get no purchase on the tub siding. Andy vaguely wondered how the fuck it had gotten into the tub. She knew for a fact that rats could jump astonishingly well and if it had jumped in, it could certainly jump out, a fact that hadn’t yet, evidently, occurred to the animal. Probably not frightened enough yet. Oh well. Time to make it more frightened.  
  
She opened the pot, which had initially seemed way too large and now seemed just large enough. She put it on the floor and then stepped slowly into the tub. The rat ran to the other end of the tub and began more frantic scrabbling.  
  
She spoke soothingly, “It’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to help you get out, buddy.”  
  
The rat was unimpressed by her tone or her words.  As she moved forward, it turned toward her and eyed her with fear and malice. She felt a High Noon moment flow by and when the rat turned away to continue its escape, she pounced. Really pounced and got him by the neck with her right hand. She pinned him to the tub, astonished by the strength of his resistance under her hand. As she tried to secure him with her left hand, he secured that hand in his teeth—easily biting right through the thin glove.  
  
She stifled a scream as he bit again and again, trying to gnaw his way to freedom. Andy had always prided herself on at least this one particular physical fact: she was sensible and kept her head despite fear or pain. If she closed her hand in a car door, she didn’t just scream—she opened it. If she spilled hot coffee on herself, she let it burn and kept her head and didn’t splash or drop the fucking cup and burn herself worse.  
  
So she gritted her teeth as he bit her and slowly worked her way into a standing position in the tub. That’s when he swung his muscular body and his sharp back claws vigorously scissored down her left forearm right through her blouse.  
  
“You son of a bitch!”  
  
She stepped out of the tub as the rat gnawed incessantly on her index finger and then forced him into the pot. She hissed, “Let go, you fucker!” He was so fixated on her finger that she could release him with her right hand and grab the lid.  
  
As soon as the animal felt the tension removed from his neck, he let Andy go, at which point she swiftly closed the lid on him.  
  
 _Holy shit_ , she thought as she breathed heavily. _That had really, really, really fucking hurt. And she’d need a doctor soon._  
  
She rocked in pain, leaning on the pot lid.  
  
“Andy? Are you okay?”  
  
“Yep.” She said with all the ‘no problem here’-ness she could muster, “Hold on one second.” She stood and grabbed the pot with the roiling rat inside and felt blood, what felt like lots of blood, trickling down inside her glove and down her sleeve.  
  
“Okay. Open up.”  
  
As they opened the door, the twins found a pale but smiling Andy holding up her catch, “One rat in a soup pot to go!”  
  
The twins eyes widened as they heard the animal frantically moving about.  
  
“Andy, he can’t get any air in the pot—he’ll die if we keep him in there. We don’t want him to die—we just don’t want him in the house. ”  
  
She looked into the girls’ eyes and instantly understood that the euthanization of a rat in a family soup pot might be considered…untoward to both of them. She took a deep breath.  
  
“Alright. I’m going to go out and walk this rat a few blocks down the street and release him. In the meantime, get me a plastic garbage bag and DO NOT go into the bathroom. I swear to God, don’t! Don’t touch a thing in that bathroom and when I leave lock the door immediately and don’t open it unless it’s me or your mom.”  
  
They both nodded solemnly, stunned by Andy’s tone and the wild sounds coming from the pot.  
  
“Be right back.”  
  
As she walked the pot down the street of the Upper East Side, she knew this was one of the many reasons she loved New York. You could be a barking lunatic and not get any attention. You could carry an enormous rat in a soup pot down the street and not get any attention. She walked two blocks before she looked around, found the coast was as clear as it was going to be, and spilled the rat onto the sidewalk.  
  
He ran like his long hairless tail was on fire and Andy called after him, “You’re welcome!”  
  
As she walked back to the townhouse, she knew she was in for a world of further hurt because Miranda was bound to be home any minute and bound to be really, really pissed about this.  
  
Sure enough, as she trudged up the stairs to the townhouse, she saw the door open on her own warm and personal white-haired nightmare. Miranda was absolutely luminous with fury. “What on EARTH are you doing? Do you have any idea what my children have just told me…”  
  
The rest of the harangue sort of went over Andy’s head for the time it took to get into the house.  
  
She ignored Miranda, “Girls! Bring the plastic bag!”  
  
Caroline ran forward with the bag with Cassidy in hot pursuit.  
  
“Hold it open.”  They did.  
  
Andy carefully placed the pot in the bag and then took off her gloves and threw them in after. She took the bag and pulled it tight. “I’ll put this in the laundry room and close it. Do NOT touch it and don’t let Patricia touch it either, you hear me?”  
  
They nodded. “You’re bleeding Andy,” Cassidy pointed out. “Sorta bad.”  
  
“Yep. Let me get this out of the way.”  
  
“Andrea! I will not have total anarchy in this—“  
  
Andy waved her bleeding, chewed hand in the air, “For the love of God, shut up, Miranda! Let me do what I need to do.”  
  
Miranda, who was entirely unused to being spoken to in this fashion, actually did shut up as Andy transferred the plastic bag into the laundry room.  
  
“I need to flush these bites right now.” She walked to one of the downstairs bathrooms followed by Priestly women in various states of emotional disarray.  
  
As she entered the bathroom, Miranda was baffled to see Andy smiling wanly at her girls, “You guys don’t need to watch—it’s sort of gross but I’m really okay.”  
  
Cassidy shook her head, “You got hurt for us—I wanna see.”  
  
Both girls flanked her as Andy nodded and started the water over her wounds that were welling and bleeding freely. “Okay. But no problem. It looks worse than it is.” She adjusted the temperature as she explained, “See, when the rat bit me he put saliva—rat spit—in my hand. I have to keep water on it to wash it out. Makes sense, right?”  
  
The girls nodded and Miranda suddenly felt like vomiting, seeing her sweet Andy’s blood running into the sink. It made her feel powerless and nothing made her angrier than incapacity. Her beloved was bleeding and hurt and she was useless and …  
  
“I simply can NOT understand what you were thinking, Andrea.”  
  
“Obviously, not much or all that well, Miranda.”  
  
“Do not make light of this. You weren’t thinking at all. Do you understand that you may have endangered the—“  
  
“Stop right there, Priestly.” Andy’s voice was low and cool over the sound of the running water. “I endangered no one but myself.”  
  
Andy’s eyes bored into Miranda’s. “I agree that what I did was probably really stupid but I love you completely. That means I love you, I love your children and, excuse my language girls, even your fucking dog. That also means I will place my body and soul between anything that ever threatens or frightens any of you, no matter if it’s a bullet or a bus or just a stupid rat. Get used to it and get over it or cut me loose and get me a cab. I need to get to the emergency room.”  
  
The words were enough but when Miranda saw how protectively her girls were standing around Andy, she knew this was a battle she was far, far better off losing.   
  
“You’re entirely right. Let’s get you to the hospital.” She stepped forward and kissed Andy’s forehead, then both of her daughters. “Keep flushing that hand and I’ll get everything arranged.”  
  
When she left the room, Caroline looked at Cassidy, who looked at Andy, who said. “I know. I have no idea who that woman was, either.” All three of them giggled, which was slightly incongruous as they watched Andy’s blood mixed with water flowing down the drain.  
  
With a couple of phone calls, Roy was immediately on task and rushed to pick up Magdalena.  
  
Next, she paged Dr. Allen, who called her back within minutes.  
  
“Allen. Who’s this?”  
  
“Miranda Priestly.”  
  
“Hmm. Hello, Ms. Priestly—how’d you get my pager num…never mind. How can I help you?”  
  
“Are you on staff tonight at the hospital?”  
  
“I am or I wouldn’t be answering.”  
  
“Very well. I have a dear friend who needs your services. We’ll be there soon.”  
  
Susan Allen almost choked on her sip of coffee, “Hold up. What’s wrong with your friend?”  
  
“I expect you to see her personally. She has been savagely bitten by a rat.”  
  
Dr. Allen almost had to savagely bite her cheek to keep from laughing, “Okay. That can be serious. Are you on your way?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You do understand, Ms. Priestly—“  
  
“Miranda. Call me Miranda.”  
  
“You do understand, Miranda, that if you get here and there are patients more in need of my services, that you will have to wait.”  
  
“Yes, doctor, I’m not completely oblivious to the world around me. I believe it’s called triage?”  
  
Dr. Allen smiled. The lady was a piece of work but no fool. “Indeed. Get your friend here and we’ll take a look.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The phone went dead. Evidently, that meant goodbye. Dr. Allen grinned.  She enjoyed the Wicked Witch. She was like a couple of shots of espresso in the coffee of life.

* * *

  
Before they left, the girls pulled their mother aside and Cassidy asked, “Andy can stay the night with us, right? We think she needs to.”  
  
Miranda hesitated before answering but decided it was as good a time as any to say it, “Of course she can but if she stays, you do know that she’ll sleep in the same room with me, don’t you?”  
  
“Duh.” They said simultaneously. Caroline added, “Like we care. We just want Andy to stay.”  
  
“Then she’ll come home.”  
  
“Good.”   
  
Miranda usually found it slightly unnerving when they spoke as one but this was not one of those times.

* * *

  
After Magdalena arrived to take care of the girls, Andy wrapped her hand and arm in a towel.  
  
Riding to the emergency room, Andy asked, “Are you still angry?”  
  
The car was dark but the lights of the city flickered in, variously illuminating Miranda’s face as she said, very quietly, “I wasn’t angry. I was frightened. Imagine my bleeding in front of you. Think how you’d feel.”  
  
Suddenly, Andy didn’t give a fuck what Roy thought. She rested her head on Miranda’s shoulder. “It was dumb. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It was. But your intentions were noble, I’m sure.”  
  
The tone of Miranda’s voice made Andy sit up. “Are you laughing at me?”  
  
Miranda eyes and voice were full of tenderness, “Never in my life. Rest on me, my love.”  
  
Andy put her head on Miranda’s shoulder and closed her eyes.  
  
After a few minutes, Roy’s glance in the rear-view mirror met Miranda’s. Her voice was, again, low and quiet, “Discretion, Roy.”  
  
He nodded and his voice was equally quiet. “Absolutely.”  
  
Andy was nearly asleep as they arrived at the hospital.

* * *

  
Dr. Allen happened, as luck would have it, to be spectacularly free and was chatting with the ladies at the admitting desk of the ER when they arrived. She’d thought she’d met Miranda Priestly, because she’d treated and examined her many times. But, as the woman walked in with her friend, she saw she hadn’t really gotten the entire picture.  
  
This woman, now completely healthy, dressed in black and ruthlessly and frighteningly self-assured, was the woman she’d read about in the tabloids. She looked like a million bucks, like a person from another universe deigning to visit a far less well-dressed and entirely plebian planet. The friend she was escorting Dr. Allen remembered seeing at the hospital and she looked sweet and pretty and pale.  
  
Miranda nodded, “Dr. Allen—this is Andrea Sachs.”  
  
Andy smiled weakly. “Hi. Call me Andy.”  
  
“Hello, Miranda. Andy—let’s get you checked in. Our triage nurse will take your vitals and we’ll get your insurance information.”  
  
“Is that entirely necess—“  
  
“Miranda, it’s fine. Really.” Andy’s voice was firm and unequivocal, which Miranda immediately accepted. Dr. Allen’s eyebrows lifted. Interesting.  
  
“Very well. Proceed.”  
  
After the necessities had been plowed through, Andy was put in a room and given a hospital gown. Miranda quickly and efficiently removed Andy’s blouse and bra and helped her into it. As she tied it in the back, she whispered, “Good thing I have so much practice undressing you.”  
  
Andy smiled and gripped Miranda’s hand although she really, truth be told, wanted Miranda to get on the gurney with her and hold her.  
  
Dr. Allen entered soon after and smiled as she donned gloves and inspected Andy’s injuries. “Excuse me, but son of a bitch! That must have been some rat!”  
  
Andy grinned grimly, “It was the Humvee of rats.”  
  
“Can you move your index finger?”  
  
Andy tried, “Not much.”   
  
“Can you feel…this…and this…”  
  
“Oh ho ho. Fu…yeah,” Andy said with a grimace, “I feel it.”  
  
“Sorry it hurts but, clinically, it’s really good that it does.” She looked at her chart, “Great. You’re not allergic to anything. I’m gonna give you a little oral pain medication and a couple of locals because you’re not going to be happy with the cleaning or the stitches we’re going to have to give these. I guess you don’t still have the rat, huh?”  
  
Andy sighed and said, “No, we broke up. We had different goals in life. But I know what that means.”  
  
“Yep. Sorry. Have you ever been vaccinated for rabies?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Miranda gaped, “Are people vaccinated for rabies?”  
  
Dr. Allen nodded, “Sure, some, but only as a prophylactic. Veterinary workers, animal control folks.” She turned back to Andy. “Okay. You get your first vaccination tonight and a rabies globulin treatment right in that biggest wound. You’ll have four more vaccinations and we’ll explain that. But first I’m gonna get you those meds and order a CT scan on your hand.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“This deepest, worst bite right here—in the joint—might have damaged a tendon or nerve or even entered that capsule and we want to make sure they’re all okay. Don’t get excited yet though. Let’s wait for the results. We won’t close that until we’re sure. You’re also gonna need a couple of stitches in those two slashing bites in your finger and a few to close the top part of this wound on your forearm.”  
  
Miranda spoke in a voice like brittle black glass, “If there is any—any question at all about Andrea’s hand, I want your best hand surgeon to review her CT scan. It would…displease me, otherwise.”  Miranda pursed her lips.  
  
Dr. Allen couldn’t know what those pursed lips really meant but, Texan that she was, she knew when she was just about to be seriously outgunned if she didn’t watch her step.  She nodded, then patted Andy’s shoulder and left the room.

* * *

  
It took hours and hours but Miranda and Andy finally made their way back to the townhouse and Roy leapt out to open the car door.  
  
Andy leaned forward and patted Roy’s shoulder with her good hand, “I’m sorry Roy. I messed up your Friday night.”  
  
“No problem Andy. I hope you feel better. Miranda, I’ll wait for Magdalena.”  
  
“Very well. Thank you, Roy. I won’t forget this.”  
  
“You could and I wouldn’t think a thing about it.”  
  
Miranda patted his arm, the first time she’d touched him in the twelve years he’d worked for her. He thought, as he watched them climb the stairs together that if it was what it looked like, they were both two really lucky women.  
  
Although it was about 11:45, the girls bounced down the hall as soon as they heard the key in the door, followed by Magdalena.  
  
“Andy! Are you okay?”  
  
Andy’s left index finger was splinted until Monday, when she saw the hand specialist again, but she could, under the power of pain medication, say “Absolutely. I’m great.”  
  
Both girls hugged her, to Miranda’s surprise and Magdalena’s chagrin.  
  
“The girls tell me that Andy stays tonight—I prepared the guest room for her.”  
  
This statement fell as flatly embarrassing to the girls as to Andy.  
  
“Magdalena, there is no one in this house who does not know that when Andrea stays here she sleeps with me. She always will. That will never change so there’s no need for a façade.”  
  
Magdalena shrugged, “I try to do the right thing.”  
  
“Of course. You always do. I can’t thank you enough for coming—Roy’s waiting to take you home.”  
  
Spurred by what they could see was jealous anxiety on their oldest household standby’s part, the girls rushed to comfort Magdalena. They hugged her as Caroline said, “See you on Monday, Maggie.”  
  
Cassidy added, “Love you, Maggie.”  
  
Magdalena sniffed, much like her employer, “Well. Good. Yes. I love you, too. Call me if you need me.”  
  
Miranda hesitated, then said, “We will always need you. That’s never a question.”  
  
Magdalena nodded her head. “See you Monday. I hope you are well, Andy.”  
  
“Thank you, Magdalena.”

* * *

After forcing down the delicious soup Magdalena had left, Andy walked upstairs, with Miranda following, toward Cassidy’s room. The girls had announced they’d be sleeping together tonight.  
  
Miranda whispered, “When they’re anxious, they always sleep together—their psychologist said it was normal for twins.”  
  
Andy laughed, “You actually paid a psychologist to tell you that? Who wouldn’t bunk up with their best friend when they were really freaked?”  
  
Miranda frowned, having never felt, even when married and sleeping with either of her husbands, like she was safe and had anyone with whom she could ‘bunk up.’ As she followed Andy and watched that dear, tired body, it occurred to her that maybe now she did.  
  
Andy, buzzed nearly out of her mind, smiled before she entered Cassidy’s bedroom and whispered, “Let me talk to them alone for a few minutes, okay?”  
  
Miranda nodded, held back and stayed just outside the doorway out of sight.  
  
“Hey, guys. Ready to get some rest? I sure am.”  
  
“Yeah—are you really okay?”  
  
“Yep. Gotta get some more shots for a while and go see the hand doctor but I’m all good. Thanks for hanging in there with that rat.”  
  
Cassidy answered, “No. Thanks for catching it. We’re sorry you got so hurt.”  
  
Andy shrugged, “Yeah, it sucked but no biggie. Like I said before, I’d much rather get hurt than either of you or Patricia.”  
  
Caroline’s lips pursed uncannily like her mom’s. “Grown-ups say things all the time. Do you really mean that or are you just saying that?”  
  
Andy took a deep breath, then waved her bandaged, splinted hand and showed them her bandaged forearm, “I know I could have just said that but I actually sorta did that, didn’t I?”  
  
They nodded before Cassidy asked quietly, “Do you think Mom or Dad would do that for us?”  
  
Andy closed her eyes for one moment, knowing Miranda had heard this and knowing, for a fact, that her sweetheart would have called someone else to handle it.  
  
“You know what, girls? I don’t know. I mean, obviously your mom and dad are older than me, right?”  
  
The girls nodded.  
  
“So they’re older and have more important jobs and are really used to ordering people around, right?”  
  
They nodded.  
  
“You have to understand, when you get as important as your mom and dad are, they have so much going on that they have to ask people to do a lot of stuff for them just to get it all done. You get used to telling other people to do stuff. But you should never—ever—think your mom and dad would call someone else if they really needed to take care of you right that minute. Never. Ever. I know that absolutely. They both love you more than anything.”  
  
The girls smiled and Andy softened a bit, “Seriously, your mother and father will always protect you. I’m just dumb enough not to know who to call and lucky enough to get to hang out with you guys.”  
   
Cassidy paused, then asked, “But you’ll stay, right? I mean, you do care more about us than Stephen did, don’t you?”  
  
Andy thought about it, “I didn’t really know Stephen but I think I can guarantee that. You’ll probably never be able to get rid of me and think about how hard that will suck for you guys and your mom, huh?”  
  
Caroline, whom Andy considered her skeptic, surprised her by saying “Good,” as she flung her arm over Cassidy.  
  
Andy leaned down and kissed them both on the forehead, which she had never done. They didn’t seem to mind at all.  
  
She got up and was almost out of the room before Cassidy said, “We’re glad you’re here, Andy.”  
  
“Me too, Cass. Your mom will come say goodnight in a minute.”  
  
“Night.”  
  
“Yep. Sleep tight.”

* * *

  
Miranda and Andy stepped down the hall for a way before Miranda whispered, “Good save in there but I don’t know how to feel about that.”  
  
Andy caressed Miranda’s cheek with her good hand, “Don’t feel anything. Just acknowledge it’s true. I’m still at the level of a foot soldier in life and you’re a general. Foot soldiers and generals have different reactions. But when the shit really hits the fan, the general’s a soldier, too. I think the girls are just at that age when it seems more reasonable and romantic to do stuff—they want the action hero. You have to be about my age before you find delegation sexy.” She kissed Miranda on the cheek, “And I do find it very sexy. Go say goodnight. I need you in bed with me.”  
  
Miranda’s eyebrows shot up, “You can’t possibly want to make love tonight.”  
  
“No, but I want my lover wrapped around me while I sleep.” Andy placed her hand on Miranda’s chest. “And General Priestly, I firmly believe you’ll handle that mission yourself.”  
  
Miranda kissed her cheek, “No one else. Ever. Get in bed, Private Rat Patrol, I’ll be right up.”  
  
As she watched Andy walk away from her, she reflected on how much time it had taken and how forced and false it had seemed for Stephen to express any affection for her children. It seemed so easy and true for Andy. A rat was not a tiger or a criminal bent on injuring her children. But the fact that Andy would put herself in even the most ridiculous harm’s way to sooth and protect her children warmed her, again, in a way she had never been warmed since she’d given birth. At that moment, she knew her family had finally expanded.

* * *

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.

* * *

More bliss, Miranda thought as she awoke quite early the next morning, her sweet girl wrapped around her with her poor wounded paw elevated on a pillow on her stomach. Her children were safe in Cassidy’s room. She had everyone she needed under one roof.  
  
Andy hadn’t moved all night. She’d been exhausted and the pain medication had helped, evidently. Dr. Allen had told her that the next few days would hurt the worst and had prescribed pain medication for the weekend and a full course of antibiotics. No nerve damage. One of her tendons had been slightly nicked but the hand specialist was 95% sure surgery wouldn’t be required. “Keep it the way it’s supposed to be and no more rodents!,” he’d snapped sharply. Hence the temporary splint and another visit soon.  
  
She vaguely heard her girls stirring downstairs and, despite her desire to stay in bed with Andy, decided to do their family Saturday breakfast thing.  
  
“Darling?”  
  
Andy scowled lightly without waking, “I’m going to make breakfast for the girls. You keep resting, okay?”  
  
Andy opened one bleary eye, “Do you love me?”  
  
“Of course I do. Why would you think otherwise?”  
  
“Just making sure,” Andy said as she immediately fell back to sleep. Case closed, Miranda assumed. She wriggled out of Andy’s grip, placed her injured arm and hand on two pillows and kissed her cheek.  
  
When she entered the kitchen she found basically what she’d thought she would, both girls in pajamas drinking orange juice and waiting for her.  
  
“About time, Mom,” Caroline said.  
  
“Oh? I believe it’s quite early, actually, considering the late night we had.”  
  
“How’s Andy?”  
  
“Sleeping like a log. Honestly, she sleeps harder than you two.”  
  
“That’s because we’re all young,” Cassidy said with a mischievous gleam in her eye.  
  
Because she was in a good mood, this was clearly a joke and, admittedly, a funny one, Miranda took no offense. “Although you deserve thin, lukewarm gruel for that comment, what would you like for breakfast?”  
  
“French toast and turkey bacon.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath, swallowing with some difficulty the idea of the carbs involved, “Alright then.”  
  
As the woman turned toward the refrigerator, the twins grinned at each other. Their mother could always be talked into carbs under unusual circumstances and they always took full advantage of this fact.  
  
Minutes later, as they were enjoying their breakfast, their mother answered the phone and, right away, they knew there was trouble.  
  
“Surely you’re kidding me, John.”  
  
Cassidy whispered, “Is Daddy okay?”  
  
Miranda nodded emphatically. “Hold one second, dear.” She smiled at the twins, “Your father is fine, darlings. He’s just telling me about some stupid tabloid thing.”  
  
The girls exhaled in relief and continued to eat. In this sense, Andy had been right—tabloids were normal for them.  
  
“Well. Of course. That’s exactly what they’re going to say. What would you suggest I do?” She walked out of the kitchen, which meant something was going on. The twins looked at each other and continued to eat, trying to listen to what their mother was saying. They couldn’t really hear the words but her voice didn’t sound angry, really, just sort of tired. She walked back into the kitchen and said, “Alright. Of course. Thank you, dear. I’ll handle it—and yes, I’ll talk to the girls…we all love you, too.”  
  
She rang off and took a seat at the table. The girls looked at her and she at them. _Page Six_ had two pictures of her escorting Andy out of the hospital and of their entering her home at almost midnight. Someone at the hospital had called in the hounds. No doubt the photographers would be outside their door this morning. Combine that with their first picture at Le Bernadin and a few in the ensuing month with both she and the children and…what could one really say? Just friends? Everyone knew she didn’t have friends she shared with her children. It was ludicrous.  
  
She’d have to call Alexis, her new PR flack. She’d moved on after her last divorce, wanting someone who didn’t feel the right to sound like a disapproving mother when discussing public relations. Miranda had one disapproving mother for free—she didn’t need to pay another. Regardless, she felt pretty sure this wasn’t going be out with a whimper—it was going to be out with a bang.  
  
The girls had been through worse and she could certainly handle it. She hoped Andy could.

* * *

 *****Flashback: One Month Earlier.*****  
  
Everyone in Andy’s office might have been circumspect enough not to mention the fact they’d seen a _Page Six_ picture of Andy and Miranda Priestly leaving Le Bernadin, but Alicia was not. Not that she said anything. When Andy arrived, she merely found that her desktop background was that very photo. She knew exactly who would and could do something like this. She looked down and closed her eyes for a few moments.  
  
Reggie saw the picture, Andy’s reaction and hated Alicia with a white-hot heat. He didn’t know how to make it any better for Andy but he tried. He called across to her from his desk, “Hey Andy, great pic yesterday.”  
  
“Thanks, sweetie.”  
  
“You looked really nice.”  
  
“Thanks, Reg.”  
  
“Yes. So you did. What were you wearing?” Alicia’s voice was butter. Her tone belied her hatred of Andy but every person in the newsroom heard it.  
  
“Vintage Dior. I highly recommend it.”  
  
“I can’t afford it—and neither can you. Tell me, how _do_ you afford it?”  
  
Andy almost sneered, “I don’t have to. At the _Mirror_ , we get ballpoint pens or baseball caps; at _Runway_ , I got Prada and Dior. What I never got, however, was another employee’s computer password.”  
  
She crossed to Mike’s office, knocked and asked, “Hey Mike, got a second?”  
  
“Sure, Sachs. Oh—and nice Post pic. Just make sure people don’t assume I’m paying you enough to eat there.”  
  
Andy grinned. She loved her boss. “And pay the rent, too? There’s no way. You got it. Thanks.”  
  
“Was it good?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Le Bernadin?”  
  
“Heaven on Earth! Dude! Worth every penny Miranda paid for it. What I’m talking about’s out here.”  
  
She walked him to her desk and pointed to her desktop. “I didn’t put this up and I logged out of my computer when I last left the building. I just wanted you to know that someone in this office is willing to use whatever computer skills they have to hack through my password to make a stupid joke at what I imagine they think is my expense.”  
  
“Do you know who did this?”  The whole newsroom was watching.  
  
“Nope. No idea,” she lied and he knew it even as he looked into her eyes. She was a great reporter but no liar—she knew exactly who’d done this, but she wasn’t a narc, which he respected. She continued, “I just don’t want other people on my computer or anyone else’s for that matter—anybody who could get past our passwords could also mess up our work in progress, you know what I mean?”  
  
“I do. Listen up people!” Although everyone in the room was already surreptitiously listening, they snapped to attention. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this with my network people and, rest assured, anyone who takes liberties with another person’s work station in the future is at liberty to find a new job.”  
  
When Mike had re-entered his office, Alicia said, silkily, “You can’t fight even one battle by yourself, can you?”  
  
Andy pinched the bridge of her nose and said quietly, “If anyone were harassing you at work, Alicia, I’d certainly hope you’d notify your employer even if you didn’t drop dime on THEM.”  
  
Everyone seemed to be working. No one was—they were listening.  
  
“So now you’re not only a total pussy, you’re Mother Theresa.”  
  
Reggie and Matthew stood up at the same time, both of them furious.  
  
Andy waved them down. “That was a stupid prank. The network admin will certainly find out who wormed her way into my machine.”  
  
“Not a chance. Actually, I’m better than that. Anything else? Oh—wait—I know. Your one connection.” She snickered as she said it.  
  
Andy’s eyes widened. “You have to be kidding. You really haven’t done your homework, Alicia, have you?”  
  
“About?”  
  
“You’re disdaining Miranda because she’s a fashion editor? You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”  
  
“Oh I don’t? All that grandstanding coming here and threatening me? Of course she has presence. Of course she does.” Her laughter was total mockery, “After all, she’s the old war-horse of fashion, isn’t she? Entirely outdated and she still thinks she can throw her weight around but you—you’re _no one_ , Sachs. Everyone here knows it and you only lord it above all of us because of your ‘perceived’ connection.”  
  
Andy could barely breathe hearing Miranda spoken of in this fashion. To a person, hearing this conversation, her coworkers were as stunned as they imagined Andy must be. She never lorded it above anyone, ever. She was almost nauseatingly sunshine and helpfulness and team!spirit! incarnate. Although Alicia had given them pause for many reasons in the past, from just this comment alone, they all began to suspect that the woman was sort of, maybe, certifiably insane.  
  
Later that evening, when Andy repeated this story to Miranda in her study, the older woman’s reaction was entirely surprising. She laughed until she had tears in her eyes. “The old war-horse of fashion? I will have to hand it to her—that’s a new one.”  
  
Her eyes took on that feral gleam that had used to frighten Andy but now just mainly made her want to take her clothes off. “One thing dear Alicia has forgotten, Andrea, is that warriors and, I would assume, even their horses only live to become old through destroying absolutely everything that gets in their way.” She sniffed, “Of course, I could scarcely be concerned with what one two-bit hack has to say about me—but she’s insulted you and I can’t have that.”  
  
“Well, she didn’t really insult me.”  
  
“She broke into your computer and tried to embarrass you with a picture that I thought was rather attractive and she called you a ‘no one’ when you are so clearly a someone.”  
  
Andy sighed, “Not really. Not yet.”  
  
Miranda voice was smooth and cool. “You may take time to be someone to the world, but you are the one and true love of my life.”  
  
This was the first time Miranda had ever said this so succinctly and it nearly short-circuited Andy’s brain. She found she couldn’t speak and merely gulped, which amused Miranda.  
  
“Very well said, darling.”  
  
Andy’s brain started again, “No. I mean, yes. Yes! Me, too.” She wrapped Miranda in a bear hug. “You are everything to me, Miranda—everything.”  
  
“So we agree. Good. Now, let’s crush Alicia.”  
  
“I don’t want her crushed—just maybe dented a little.”  
  
“That’s why I love you. We’ll have to wait just a little while—to make her feel she’s safe. Nothing’s more delicious than destroying someone who’s unsuspecting, gloating and feeling victorious.”  
  
“You’re so hot.”  
  
“Which I suppose we’ll handle in one week.”  
  
“If we lock the door and are quick about it…”  
  
“I love a woman with ideas. Let’s do it.”

* * *

A few days later, Andy got a call at about 9:30 PM from Mike saying, without prelude, “Sachs, I know you’re not crime beat but you’re really close to the address---can you do this for me? We need to get there before everybody else. Shooting of a 14-year-old African-American kid. It may get political. John’ll meet you there.” John was their best photographer. He gave her the address.  
  
“On it.” Andy slipped on jeans and a reasonable blouse and jacket in case she were caught in the photography. She did minimal make-up and ran out the door to grab a cab.  
  
Once they’d arrived, they watched the solemn scene of a covered body leaving the premises. She identified herself and, as the first reporter on the scene, the mother of the victim agreed to their presence and moved them around the crime scene and the copious amounts of blood and what seemed like…milk…on the outside of her apartment’s third floor landing. She seemed almost outside herself as Andy introduced herself and John.  
  
The woman’s name was Mary Washington. She was a beautiful but understandably and incredibly distraught African-American woman. She said in a shaking but dignified voice, “I know what you’re already _thinking—_ what you’re going to try to make me say.”  
  
Andy was horrified by the scene, the blood, and to be the first one, beside the police, to talk to this woman. But she shook her head, trying to keep her voice level, “I don’t think anything, except that there’s been a tragedy. I’m here to find out what happened from your point of view, nothing else.”  
  
Mary looked into Andy’s liquid brown eyes, and registered the shock and the youthful anguish in them. And seemed to find a needed honesty there. “I have one thing to say. Those two white policemen did not shoot my boy because of his race. I know this—I know for a fact it was a mistake. I told my Tony not to carry something that looked like a real gun. He thought it made him look tough. He was a very tall, lanky little boy. 14 years old and already more than six feet tall. This isn’t a tough neighborhood but there were some tough kids hanging around and he wanted to be like them, you know what I mean? I might hate those police if I hadn’t heard it through my own door. I knew something made them come up here and I heard the sounds outside the door.”  
  
Tears ran down her face, “I didn’t even know it was my little boy they were talking to so I kept the door locked. I was so scared and hoped Tony was still at the store. I’d just sent him out for some milk. I heard the police from down the stairs, saying, loud enough so I could hear them, ‘Hey, sir? Can we ask you a couple of questions? Sir? Just routine—no problem.’ He didn’t even answer them. If I’d heard his voice, I would have run out in front of him.”  
  
She took a deep breath, “Then they started yelling, ‘Keep your hands up—please! NO!  Don’t reach down. Do you have a—DO NOT—DON’T SIR!—Don’t! DO NOT lower your hands! Hands UP! Now! Now!!’ And then I heard ‘WEAPON!’ and all those shots. I can tell you that those policemen were so loud but they both sounded so scared, too, and so much like they didn’t want this. But my Tony was scared, too, don’t you think? And so my little boy pulled out his stupid fake gun and aimed it at them. What could he have been thinking—that they weren’t _real_ men with _real_ guns? _That this was a movie or TV or something_?”  
  
She shook her head in horror and consternation.  
  
“They shot him and ran up the stairs and saw that fake gun and that he was just a little boy and they started to do CPR and I could see both of them, almost instantly, were crying. They told me after he was gone that there was a call about a black man who’d raped a little black girl a few hours ago and a few blocks down and he was about Tony’s height and wearing a Yankee’s hoodie and the same Nikes Tony had on when he died. They just wanted to ask him some questions. They didn’t want to shoot an innocent boy. I could see that. Both of those men were crying. Really crying. And trying to resuscitate him. I saw their tears falling on his face. I’ll never get over this and I’ll bet you they never will, either.”  
  
Tears welled from her agonized eyes, “It was a mistake, Andy. Some mistakes cost more than others. But I don’t want people to start saying stupid things and hurt other people. For someone to be killed like my Tony? It was no one’s fault. If Tony had just kept his head, he could have answered 10 minutes of questions—he’d just gone to the store for me. He’d been with me all night. It was just a mistake—a terrible mistake and my Tony was a big part of it.”  
  
She took a deep breath and laughed, which was a sad, painful sound, “The ironic part of this is that my father was a policeman and he died in the line of duty when I was about Tony’s age. I used to fantasize that I’d been there and could have blown the bastard who shot my father away. But who knows what really happened? Maybe my father hesitated when he saw the gun that killed him. He might have. He never, _ever_ wanted to shoot anybody—I know that. He just wanted to protect and serve,” she said with a sad smile. “Protect and serve.”  
  
Andy nodded, wiped tears from her eyes and said, “John—just leave. No pictures. Not one picture. I swear to God, if there’s anything from here I don’t know what I’ll do.”  
  
“But Andy, Mike expects—“  
  
“News. News! A picture of a mother crying because her son is dead isn’t news. I’ll report the story.”  
  
John nodded and left.  
  
After an hour, there were scads of TV reporters outside and Mary wavered. Andy reminded her, “You don’t have to talk to them, you know.”  
  
“Oh yes I do. Or I can see all hell breaking loose about something stupid.” She asked whether Andy would accompany her to speak to them. Seeing this devastated mother, what could she say? “I can’t, ma’am. I’m a member of the press. Just know I’ll be there and support you. And, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll be at your son’s service.”  
  
Andy pressed her card into Mary’s hand. “Don’t worry. Your story will be mine.”  
  
Mary addressed the TV news and explained her side of the story, asking for no violent protests because of her son’s death. “This was a mistake—a mistake by my son most of all. He drew a gun on the police. It wasn’t a real gun but they couldn’t know that. I heard it all when it was happening. I can not have my son die and see anyone else hurt because of him. He was too gentle and good a young man for that. I don’t want it and he wouldn’t want it. If you need any more information, ask Andy Sachs at the _New York Mirror._ She didn’t ask stupid questions and try to make this what it wasn’t just for the news. I hope you will all have the same sense of journalistic integrity. That is all I have to say.”  
  
When Andy got back to the newsroom, Mike said, “Sachs. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You shouldn’t have sent John home.”  
  
“I know. But I don’t care.”  
  
“File the story—get home. By the way, saw the news.”  
  
“Mike? I didn’t ask her to say that, you know.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, “Jesus, Sachs, I hope you think I know you better than that.”  
  
“And you know my story will go just the way the mother heard it?”  
  
“Yep. And I’ll know we’ll be the paper who scooped it and broke it the right way and were compassionate enough to do it. But that wasn’t us—it was you.”  
  
Andy nodded her thanks and turned to her computer.  
  
“And Sachs?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Could you handle more crime beat stories?”  
  
This was a big deal—and she’d never realized how much these stories would hurt her heart. But why else be a journalist?  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“I’ll keep you in mind. Good job. Need that copy in 45 minutes. Holding the press.”  
  
“You got it.”

* * *

  
This was her first front-page story, which made Miranda almost insane with pride. A pride Andy didn’t feel she deserved but Miranda said, with great conviction, “Your writing made that woman, her son and those police officers human beings to your readers. You explained a mother’s loss of a child as a tragic, misguided mistake rather than a case for the mayor’s office. And that mother’s courage and your writing might have saved lives, whether you choose to acknowledge that or not. Reporting of that sort is true journalism—not sensationalism. I’m deeply, tremendously proud of you.”  
  
Andy didn’t feel equal to saying anything to this compliment. She would never have thought she’d hear it so she merely snuggled closer to Miranda and got the kiss Miranda evidently believed she deserved. Andy was breathless when she was finished.

* * *

  
Mary Washington was astonished to hear a clipped English accent on her phone the next day, “Ms. Washington, my employer has read your story and would like to make a donation to your son’s memory—either to you or the charity of your choice.”  
  
After the woman hesitated in surprise for a long while, Emily continued, “My employer suggested perhaps creating an Antonio Washington Trust at a Boys and Girls Club of your choice in order to ensure youths have a place to go after school.”  
  
“That’s too kind—but what do I need to do?”  
  
“Nothing. Agree and it’s done. And the first $150,000 is there with further donations annually, unless you need it. She would prefer, of course, to give _you_ anything you need.”  
  
Mary Washington’s jaw dropped, “No. I don’t need a thing. I have a job. I’d like something in Tony’s memory.”  
  
“Then you will have it.” Although it galled her to say it, she repeated what Miranda had told her to say. “A friend of Andy’s is a friend of hers.”  
  
Mary choked out a sudden laugh or sob—Emily couldn’t be sure and even she  was moved by the sound and it moved her to her better manners, “I used to work with Andy and she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”  
  
“She is that. Thank you. What’s your name?”  
  
“Emily.”  
  
“Emily. My favorite name ever. I always wished I'd had another child--a girl named Emily.”  
  
“Thank you—we’ll be in touch with contact numbers. We’ll handle the hard part.”  
  
“Thank you, Emily.”  
  
“You’re welcome and we’re all very sorry for your loss.”  
  
Emily could almost hear Mary smile into the phone, “I am, too, but the greater the treasure, the greater the loss, right?”  
  
Emily had never thought of that way but…”Yes. Yes, Ms. Washington. You’re so right.”

* * *

Sending copies of her first front page to her parents and brother gave her the perfect opportunity to tell them about Miranda.  
  
But first, Andy called her younger brother, Sam, early in the morning, so early she knew he’d be asleep—and hopefully alone. He was only eleven months younger than she, but even so, she and he had always considered him her protector.  
  
Andy’s mother was pretty, her father was handsome and Andy thought she’d done at least all right in the looks department. But Sam was the beauty in the family, without any doubt. He was 6’2”, had wildly curly hair no one could account for, the same eyes and mouth as his sister, and a chiseled muscular body, all of which combined to make his masculine features gorgeous. What was even more beautiful about Sam was that he never seemed to recognize this and that he truly adored women. He’d always treated the plainest of Andy’s female friends exactly as well as the prettiest. Not bad traits in a man.  
  
“Sammy?”  
  
“Andy?” His voice was thick with sleep. Although they emailed almost daily, he hadn’t heard her voice for weeks. He looked at the clock, immediately sat up in bed and scrubbed his face. “Ssup? You okay, honey?”  
  
“Yeah. I need you to do something for me and it’s really important. I’m sorry I called so early.”  
  
“I wasn’t asleep.”  
  
Andy snorted, “Okay. Right. This is Day One. I’ve never met you.”  
  
“Shut up. Whatcha need, baby-doll? Anything. I’m all over it.”  
  
“I just sent you an email I’m about to send to the parental units. I need for you to check it out before I send it.”  
  
Sam shook his head, waking up. He, too, was a writer but had just gotten a job as a junior copy-editor on a major website. “Whatcha need—me to read it for copy—or for—“  
  
Andy laughed faintly, “No, sweetie. I need you to read it and give me your reaction. I’m about to send a nuclear bomb of news to their inbox. I just wanted you to have it first and tell me….”  
  
She paused and he could hear that she was sniffing, possibly crying. A chill ran through him. A cold wind that blew through him sometimes because fear for his family’s health was something he’d never quite gotten over since their mother had told them she had cancer. “Fuck me, Andy. What? Are you okay? Is something wrong? Are you sick?”  
  
From the tone in his voice, Andy knew exactly where his mind had gone.  
  
“No! I’m sorry, Sammy. No. I’m not sick—in fact, this should be great news if you choose to see it that way. Just read it okay, honey? And call me when you finish.”  
  
Sam’s shoulders fell in relief. “No probs. On it like a rocket.”  
  
“Then I’ll talk to you in a few.”  
  
Sam got out of bed and scratched himself luxuriously, then grabbed a quart of chocolate milk out of his fridge. Scratching wherever he liked and drinking straight out of the milk jug were just two of the benefits of living alone and he enjoyed them.  
  
He opened his email, found the new one from his sister and began to read.  
  
_Hi, Mom, Dad and Sam:  
  
I’m writing you to tell you some really important personal news. I’m sharing this news with you via email in order to give you all time to digest it before you talk to me. I sincerely hope that you’ll discuss this between yourselves before you talk to me. It’s only fair to you three and to me. You’ll soon understand why.  
  
I’ve fallen very deeply in love, very seriously in love, with someone and I think it’s only fair that I tell you about her now.  
  
Yes. Her. Yes, a woman. What’s more, she’s twice my age and you all know her—by reputation, if not in person. Miranda Priestly.  
  
Take a deep breath. I know. Yes. The Ice Queen, the Dragon Lady, the Devil Incarnate. Those are names I’ve used in the past, but obviously, no longer.  
  
I know what you’ll wonder. Am I a Lesbian? Am I bisexual? I have no idea. I am whatever loving Miranda makes me.  
  
My absolute love, adoration and respect for everything you’ve been to me throughout my life are always with me. But nothing and no one on Earth could keep me from Miranda.  
  
I know this will be a shock. It shocked me. It shocked her. But I think, if you’re wise, you give yourself up to Fate when you find it. I know that I’ve found my Fate—and she’s everything I’ve ever needed, wanted or dreamed of. Actually, if our love were only a dream, I would never, ever want you to wake me.  
  
All my love,  
  
Andy_

* * *

  
Sam finished the email, eyes increasingly widening, having swigged copious amounts of chocolate milk in the reading.  
  
He sat and thought for a few minutes, then he whistled. His sister. With a woman twice her age. Miranda Priestly. How did that feel?  
  
His sister with a woman? He almost instantly decided that he didn’t give a flying fuck about that. Who was he to judge? Hell, he _loved_ having sex with women and a woman who didn’t was probably missing out big time.  
  
The age part. Hmmmm.  
  
He slugged some more chocolate milk.  
  
He’d Googled Miranda Priestly when Andy had worked for her (of course he had) and the pictures all showed a hot, very hot, obscenely well-dressed and fearsome older woman. A woman who, he had to admit to himself, if she’d been interested, would have found him ready to go in about five seconds flat. No question there. He could see Andy’s point.  
  
He re-read the mail. And his heart was warmed. Andy was in love. Really in love. With a scary older woman. He chuckled to himself for a couple of minutes and chugged some more milk. Whatevs, he thought. Problematic and he had a few questions. But good for her. He dialed her number.  
  
She answered and her voice was timid. “Okay. Tell me.”  
  
Sam chuckled as he answered, “So? You’re with someone who’s singularly hotter, wealthier, better-dressed, more influential and famous than all the women I’ve dated combined. What’s up with that?”  
  
He heard the relief in his sister’s voice—“I got it goin’ on, baby boy.”  
  
“Andy?”  
  
The serious tone in his voice quelled her exuberance.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Is this real—for both of you?”  
  
“Entirely. Absolutely.”  
  
“Andy—be real with me, okay? She treats you good?”  
  
“Of course she does! Why would you even ask?”  
  
“Oh hell, I don’t know—she kept you nearly in tears the entire time you worked for her. Something like that comes to mind.”  
  
Andy laughed, “Okay. True. Trust me, I wouldn’t work for her again for any amount of money—but loving her is a different experience. I can’t say she isn’t a bit challenging sometimes but she treats me like she loves me and cherishes me.”  
  
There was a pause, then Sam replied, “Well, okay then. And I’m sorry but you know I had to ask, And. You’re my sole priority—not Miranda.”  
  
“I know, honey. Thanks—I mean it.”  
  
“And you’re really committed to this?”  
  
“Absolutely. No question.”  
  
“Then send the email to the parental units. I’m in your corner, baby-doll.”  
  
“Thanks, Sammy. One day, I’ll be glad to introduce you all to my sweetheart.”  
  
“And I’ll be really, really glad to meet her, given the pictures I’ve seen.”  
  
There was a long pause. “Sam?”  
  
“Uh huh?”  
  
“I love you but I’d kill you if you—“  
  
“Psych!!!!” Sam laughed into the phone, then finally said, “I ain’t prowlin’ on your woman, girl! I don’t think I’m man enough for her—though evidently you are.”  
  
Andy purred, “Oh, I certainly am—you don’t even know the half of it.”  
  
”And thank God I never will.” He winced a bit, “Damn, Andy—that would have been really hot if you weren’t my sister.”  
  
They’d always teased each other about sex so he continued. “See—if another woman said what you just said to me, my articles, let’s call them, might become a bit more perky, if you get my drift. But with you—knowing it’s you—it’s like instant dry ice in the region in question.”  
  
Andy laughed, “I’ll have to tell Miranda that. She’ll be happy to know she’s not the only woman who’s been accused of being able to freeze a man’s…articles off with her voice.”  
  
After a congenial pause, they realized they were both avoiding the big question, so Andy asked it, “You think they’re going to freak, don’t you?”  
  
”Well, sure—at least a little. Wouldn’t you if you were parents?”  
  
Andy took a deep breath. Sammy always told her the truth, no matter what. She only said, “Well…”  
  
“Andy, I’m not talking about the woman part—they’ll get over that. You know they don’t care about that shit.” Andy assumed this was true. Her parents had always had gay and Lesbian friends.  
  
Sammy continued, “They might freak about the fact she’s 50 and she’s been married twice. Not to mention that both of those previous marriages ended fairly quickly and in spectacular press flame-outs. Oh—and add the fact that you have to remember—all you could talk about for that Runway year was Miranda and even though you’d defend her, most of what you said made her seem like a tyrannical bitch from hell.”  
  
“Okay—enough. I get the point. At work, she sort of is a tyrannical bitch from hell. But she’s my tyrannical bitch from hell.”  She sighed, then added, “All joking aside, Sammy, Miranda is everything to me. Everything.”  
  
“I hear you, sister. I’m happy for you and I’ll fight for you. With the parents or anyone else who has a problem.”  
  
“Thanks—and lift that chocolate milk higher for me.”  
  
”Hey! How’d you know?!”  
  
“Again. Not my first day with Sam Sachs.”  
  
”Yada yada. Love you too, you ass monkey.”  
  
Andy snorted. “You’re the ass monkey. I’m sending the email—I’ll cc you so it looks like you’re all getting it at the same time.”  
  
“Cool—you think I should wait for the frantic phone call or make my own? We need to get our story straight.”  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
”They’re old school, baby-doll. They don’t check their email until someone makes them. I’ll call them later on this morning and tell them to hop on it. I’ll also tell them I spoke to you after I read it, even though I was explicitly told in the email to discuss it with them before I spoke to you.”  
  
Andy snickered—“That’s the truth—you’d never wait to call.”  
  
“Wait? To talk to you? Not in this lifetime. We younger Sachs have to stick together.”  
  
“After the blow-out, I’m sure we’ll talk later, little man.”  
  
Sam smiled at the nickname she’d given him when he was a toddler and kept for him even after he’d grown so much taller than she.  
  
“No doubt about it, baby-doll. Love you and give my love to Miranda and the kids.” He paused for a few seconds, “Whoa Andy. I just thought of something. If you guys ever get married, I’m gonna be an uncle!” He whistled loudly, then continued, “Finally! Uncle Fucking Sam! Man, I am so totally stoked! What are her kids’ names again?”  
  
Andy chuckled. ”Caroline and Cassidy. I love you, too, and thank you so much, Uncle Sam.”  
  
“For what? Being your brother? I was born that way—a congenital condition, I believe they call it. Later, babe.”  
  
“Later.”  
  
They both rang off in much the way they nearly always did—grateful to have a sibling who knew, loved, appreciated and defended them.

* * *

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.
> 
> A/N: ***FLASHBACK ALERT*** This chapter begins where it ended in the last chapter, about one month before Andy’s rat attack. Andy’s call to Sam was the weekend after her first sleepover with Miranda (and after she sent the resulting Le Bernadin Post pix to them).

* * *

Sam had called, as he said he would, later that morning and waited for the gang-up call from his parents, which came rather quickly. They were both on phones in different rooms, he assumed for better younger child-assailment purposes.  
  
His father went first, “And you say you’ve spoken to your sister? This isn’t some sort of morbid joke?”  
  
“Nope,” Sam said, “She’s serious and seriously happy.”  
  
His mother cut in, “What could that woman have done to her to make her act so—“  
  
“Geesh! Maybe she kissed her, Mom, I don’t know.”  
  
“That’s disgusting, Samuel!”  
  
“What’s disgusting? That Andy would kiss a woman? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were prejudiced that way.”  
  
His father broke in immediately, “It’s not the same sex issue—it’s Miranda. She made Andy’s life miserable when she worked for her but she always had some sort of strange hold over her. Andy seemed almost obsessed with the woman and we’re both worried that it’s--“  
  
“Whoa! Wait-a-minute. After I talked to her something occurred to me. Did you ever think maybe that strange hold was love, Dad? Mom? Maybe they just realized the reason they locked horns so much was because they were in love and didn’t know it. How about that?”  
  
“But she’s twice her age!”  
  
“Yep. That’s true. Andy seems cool with it, though.”  
  
“And she has children.”  
  
“Uh huh. Seems cool with that, too.”  
  
Audrey snorted, “Well, if she were a wealthy man of that age, I’d know exactly what he wanted from Andy.”  
  
Richard spoke before Sam could say anything. “Audrey, let’s not go there. Andy has many, many remarkable qualities. Anyone would be lucky to spend time with her.”  
  
“Yeah! What dad said,” Sam agreed.  
  
She said, testily, “I know _that_ , Richard. She’s my daughter, too. But Miranda Priestly is three years younger than you are. Are you telling me you’d find a 25 year-old mentally and emotionally stimulating enough for you? Notice I kindly left out the physical part.”  
  
Sam blushed and thought maybe he was too young for this conversation.  
  
Richard sighed, “We’re getting off track, Audrey, and that line of inquiry is inappropriate to suggest with our son on the phone.”  
   
“I think so, too, Mom.”  
  
“Oh, thank you, Sam. You certainly seem to be fine with this, young man. Why’s that?”  
  
“Because I love my sister and my sister is in love and happier than I’ve ever heard her. Shouldn’t that be enough for me? Or even for you two?”  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
Sam was the first to speak, “I hope you guys will try to talk to her reasonably about this and not come out with your parental guns blazing. She’s not backing down on this, I can tell you that. You know how much she wants to make us proud of her. And she still wants our approval but, for the first time I’ve ever heard in my life, she doesn’t need it.”  
  
He cleared his throat, to be more clear, “She wants us on board but doesn’t need us on board for this. She’ll be sad if you don’t approve but it won’t change a thing if you don’t.”  
  
His mother’s voice quavered, “Why do you say that?”  
  
“You didn’t hear her, Mom. She’s totally in love. Your disapproval can’t change that.” She heard the firmness in his voice and she knew the reason for it. Although a wonderful and loving mother, she was the one person in the Sachs family who was given to verbal outbursts that could be terribly, ridiculously hurtful. She was always deeply apologetic afterward but the sting remained. As the years had passed, these outbursts had become almost non-existent, but this was exactly the sort of situation that might create one. She felt protective of a family member doing something she was unsure of while equally unsure of her own feelings about it.   
  
He heard his mom sigh. “In love. With a woman. Twice her age.”  
  
“Yep. That’s the situation. But just hear me out—if you call her and listen to how happy she sounds, you couldn’t be anything but happy for her. She’s really, truly in love, with someone who loves her. Isn’t that what you’d both want for either of us?”  
  
He heard both of his parents exhale.  
  
His father said, “Of course that’s what we want—this just isn’t what we’d expected.”  
  
Sam laughed, “If it’s any help, I’m positive my one true love will be a woman and I’m virtually sure she’ll be probably just about my age. Andy’s the bold one in the family, not me.”  
  
“Should we call her?”  
  
“Sure. I think she’ll expect it. And she’s nervous about how you guys are going to react. But remember, she feels like this is the best news she’s ever shared with you in her life. You might want to have some respect for that ‘cause that’s how she sounds when she talks about Miranda.”  
  
“We’ll try. Thank you, sweetheart.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Talk to you soon, son.”  
  
“Hope so.”  
  
The phone call was over. He hoped he’d gotten through.  
  


* * *

  
Andy’s parents talked for few minutes and agreed that while they didn’t agree about their feelings about the situation, they could agree to call their daughter. The results were exactly, had they given it much greater thought, what Richard and Sam, at least, might have predicted.

* * *

Andy was pacing through her apartment and had cleaned her kitchen and bathroom twice. Any time now….any time now….  
  
The phone rang and she looked at the Caller ID. Here it was. She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath and thought of Miranda.  
  
“Hi!”  
  
She could tell right away her parents were on different phones. They always ganged up that way. She and Sammy hated that.  
  
“Hi, Andy,” her father said.  
  
“Hello, Andrea.” her mother said.  
  
Okay, that was easy enough. Andy/Andrea. The parental semi-approval/disapproval lines were already drawn.  
  
“Glad to hear from you—sorry to give you my news by email first but I thought you might need a little digestion time.”  
  
Her father weighed in first, “Yes…it was certainly surprising.”  
  
Andy laughed warily, “Well, yeah. To us, too. Like I said. But not anymore.”  
  
“Are you really happy, Andy?” Her father’s voice was tremulous.  
  
“Entirely. Ecstatically!” Her father smiled at the joy in her voice, “Dad, I’ve never been happier in my life. She’s the most complete idea of love I’ve ever had—the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel completely…joyful, giddy, even.” She laughed, “That’s the best way to say it—I feel like skipping down the street every day just knowing she loves me.”  
  
He closed his eyes. It was not what he had expected for his little girl but he had to agree with his son. She sounded like a woman truly in love. “Then I’m very glad, sweetie. Although it may take some time for me to get used to it, believe me,“ He gently kidded.  
  
His daughter grinned into the phone. “I know. Me, too. Miranda and the kids, too. We can all get used to it together, don’t you think?”  
  
There was a long silence and Andy heard her mother draw a deep breath and say in a tone that scalded her, “So you’re happy? And we’re all supposed to be happy, too? And giddy? And we’re all supposed to get used to it? To accept the fact that a woman twice your age is keeping you around—obviously--as some sort of nymphet…sex toy? I can’t even wrap my mind around it. And with her own children in her house? What kind of person can she be to expose her young children to this sort of depraved behavior? She’d have to be some sort of—“  
  
Richard, entirely stunned, finally broke in forcefully, “Audrey! My God! Stop it! Right this second!”  
  
Andy’s voice was more forceful, “Mother!” She’d never called her Mom ‘mother’ in all her life, which instantly stopped her Mom’s tirade. Andy’s voice was frigid with rage, “No one— _no one_ in my life attacks Miranda. How DARE you call me her sex toy? But since you brought it up? Do we have sex? Of course we do. We’re in love—we’re lovers. Her children know we’re involved but we don’t expose them to that part of our relationship. Are you insane? You don’t know Miranda but what kind of human being do you think I am? And just how depraved do you believe she needs to be in love with me? Or vice versa? A little? Or a lot?”  
  
“Get with it, get over it or get out of my life, Mother. Those were your three options. I just heard you pick the last one. Thank you, Daddy, for loving me and listening to me and trying, at least, to be kind. I love you for that. And, as a bit of housekeeping, Miranda and Sam will be my emergency contacts from now on. Don’t you ever dare—don’t you ever even dare try to contact me again. I’ll contact you when and if I ever feel I’m ready. Which may be never. But that shouldn’t upset you at all, given my depravity and newly-minted sex toy status. I’m sorry, Daddy. And fuck you, Mother. Thanks for absolutely less than nothing, which is what you just gave me. Goodbye.”  
  
Andy slammed her phone shut, not at all happy about anything she’d said but still nearly incandescently angry. Her parents were left on the line, separated by only their feelings and the walls in their home.  
  
Audrey said, “Oh my God. What did I just do?”  
  
Richard exhaled heavily. He was absolutely and completely devastated, having never heard anything like these words from his beloved daughter, his first born.   
  
He spoke quietly, “You tell me, Audrey. You didn’t have to approve but you didn’t even ask her questions about her life. You weren’t kind—you weren’t even polite. You condemned her and insulted her and the person she loves so cruelly—so viciously! Why? She was just trying to express herself to us and you cut her off. And now she’s cut us off—and rightfully so if that’s the way her parents treat her.”  
  
He listened to her breathing and the fact they were in the same house made their emotional distance so much more poignant to him, “Do you think what she was telling us—expressing her love for another woman—was easy for her?”   
  
He heard his wife began to cry, “No. Of course not.”  
  
“And yet, you seemed to find it so very easy to kick her when and where she was most vulnerable during this incredibly difficult time and during what might be her most desperate time of need for her parents’ love and approval. She was right. You gave her nothing, nothing but grief and disgust and disapproval and heartache. I’ll tell you one true thing—I’m not at all disappointed in my daughter. But I’m deeply, deeply disappointed in you, more than I could have, in my life, ever imagined I could be.” He hung up the phone.  
  
She hung up and began to weep as if she’d lost a child, which was how it felt. Her dear, beautiful daughter who’d always been such a kind soul. She felt an emotional aching in her chest she felt might actually kill her, which only reminded her of Andy’s tender treatment during her cancer. She sobbed more desperately. She had hurt her Andy and husband, her entire family profoundly and in a way she might never be able to make amends for.

* * *

Andy didn’t cry. Even she found it surprising she did not cry. But she called Sam, since he’d be expecting it and needed to know.  
  
“Sooo…how’d it go, baby-doll?”  
  
She reported the conversation with no emotional inflection in her voice. As she spoke, he flopped onto his couch and closed his eyes. He could not believe it. After she finished, she gave a shaky laugh and said, “the depraved and nymphet sex toy parts were my favorites, how ‘bout you?”  
  
“I cannot fucking believe she said that to you, Andy. Dad’s going to be furious and you know Mom—you know she has to feel like total shit right now.”  
  
“I’m sure he is and I’m sure she does or at least I hope so. But luckily, that’s no longer my problem. If they call you, Sammy, you can say you talked to me and that I’m serious. I want nothing to do with them but I’ll tell you privately that I don’t want to come between them—I don’t want them divorced over me. I can’t stay in contact with Dad and ignore Mom. So, there it is. I have a family—you and Miranda and, hopefully, the children. They can have theirs.”  
  
“But Andy…honey…maybe if you just give it some time.”  
  
“Fine. Maybe. But my time. Not her time.”  
  
“Okay. I gotcha. Fair enough.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Sam.”  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”  
   
“I know.” She sighed, “I’m sorry in the regret sense, not the apology sense. I don’t regret Miranda but I do regret Mom’s words.”  
  
“Me, too. I love you, Andy—you will always, always have me.”  
  
“Right back atcha. Now I gotta go—Miranda and the kids are coming over for lunch.”  
  
“Okay. Talk to you soon?”  
  
“Sure. You know it.”  
  
Something about the entire, almost robotic, lack of emotion in her voice was really bugging him. “Andy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
His voice was tense. “Are you really alright?”  
  
“I just kicked my parents to the curb. No. I am not alright. At all. But Miranda will take care of me and just hearing your voice helps.” Her voice softened a bit, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”  
  
“Okay, well, tell Miranda and the kids hello for me.”  
  
“Will do.”

* * *

  
She continued, almost without thinking, to make lunch, calzones for the girls and a gigantic Greek salad they all could enjoy. She focused on that and knew she would cry and feel entirely distraught once she wasn’t still furious.  
  
The girls were bringing their X-Box over even though they felt Andy’s TV was somewhat lacking for the purpose—which was entirely true compared to their whatever they called it, some enormous Plasma-God-Given-From-On-High-Moses-Parting-Red-Sea TV they had at home. But Andy felt they secretly were beginning to like slumming it in her apartment and were getting used to her. And her penchant for carbs.  
  
As soon as she opened the door, Miranda looked into Andy’s eyes, saw what was in them, drew a deep breath but smiled. “Smells wonderful, doesn’t it, girls?”  
  
“Yeah! Thanks for cooking, Andy—can we hook it up?”  
  
“Go to it. You know how—I don’t.”  
  
They scampered into Andy’s living space.  
  
“Didn’t go well, I take it?” Miranda whispered.  
  
“Sam was perfection. Dad was totally cool. But Mom was incredibly vile—I told my parents not to contact me again. That I’d make the decision to speak to them again, if I ever did.”  
  
“Can we talk about this in your room?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Girls, we’re going to have a talk in Andy’s room.”  
  
Caroline sighed, “So, you’re going to make out, huh?”  
  
“Caroline!” Cassidy sniped, “That’s none of our business.”  
  
Miranda was nonplussed, “We’re actually going to talk adult talk. The door will be open. I’m sure it would bore you terribly but feel free to come spy on us if you need to, Caroline dear.”  
  
Caroline made a face at the TV but her snark was effectively quelled.  
  


* * *

  
After Andy briefed Miranda on the call, she said, with a sad smile “The funny thing is, I’ve never really had any true falling out with my family in my life.”  
  
Miranda took another deep breath. “I’m very sorry but let me ask you one question. Think about it before you answer—is this what you really want?”  
  
Andy felt a sudden panic in her heart from Miranda’s tone. “What? What do you mean?”  
  
“To be separated from your family because of me? I would never want to be the cause of such a loss if your family’s a happy one.”  
  
Andy’s eyes welled, “I sort of thought you guys were becoming my family now.”  
  
A slow smile broke across Miranda’s face, a very sweet and tender smile, “So we are and always will be. My children will grow up and leave me but I hope that you never will.”  
  
“No. Never in this lifetime.”  
  
Miranda crossed herself, and said, “God willing.”  
  
“You’re religious?”  
  
“Catholic. Lapsed, of course, which accounts for my stunning lack of guilt you’ve commented upon so frequently. And you’ll also remember I’m an only child, which explains my natural talent for sharing and letting other people have their way.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes, which Miranda ignored as she continued, “Your parents may come around. My parents did, in their respective fashions. Remember I told you they tossed me out when I was seventeen?”  
  
“Yeah—but you never told me why.”  
  
“A difference of opinion. Which meant I actually had one. I wanted to be in fashion, in publishing. They wanted me to be an accountant or something similarly deadly. So we parted ways. It took 15 years before I saw them again. My father was dying and he called me. I was already a success—anyone could see it. It was nice to talk to him in the months before he died. He was sorry—I was sorry.”  
  
She grinned ruefully, “My mother is another story. She still disapproves of me—but at a distance. She married a very wealthy man after my father died, whom I’m sure she talked into an early grave. However, she exists. We talk, sporadically. This isn’t a happy story, just a story to say life goes on and that relationships resolve themselves, often in ways we can’t predict.”  
  
Andy looked at Miranda and was pretty damned sure the woman almost never told anyone about her family, which made her heart swell. “I love you so much, Miranda.”  
  
“And I love you, Andrea.”  
  
“Let’s go get those calzones out of the oven before they think we’re seriously making out in here.”  
  
“I wish we were.”  
  
“Me, too.”

* * *

At that very moment, a very naked Serena was devouring an enormous bowl of ice cream, much to the delight of a very naked Emily. They’d now been lovers of the consummated brand for three weeks, after Serena had held out for an astonishing amount of time, in Emily’s frustrated opinion.  
  
Their first time together had been nearly hysterically awful and awkward, so much so that Serena’s continuous laughter, which had initially terribly appalled Emily, finally churned up her English good cheer. They laughed themselves into such a stupor and sense of relaxation that the sex during the rest of the night was very, very good.  And continued to be very, very good.  
  
For every, perhaps, six spoonfuls of ice cream, Serena fed Emily one tiny spoonful. Serena hadn’t been kidding. She could eat like an anaconda and Emily took great pleasure in watching her. Actually, she took great pleasure in all things Serena because the Brazilian woman really seemed to love her and enjoy her company. She talked to her, really talked—and not just about fashion.  
  
This was new to Emily in a lover. Her past boyfriends hadn’t been big-talkers. Well, in a sense they had been, but not about things that mattered to Emily, things she hadn’t known mattered to her at all. Art. Philosophy. Music. Religion. Politics. Serena wanted her opinions and listened to them and Emily was surprised to find that just talking to her girlfriend was sometimes as exciting and good as their lovemaking.  
  
And Serena made her feel more beautiful than she ever had, seemingly basking in the very flesh that Emily had always been ashamed of. Her hips and thighs and stomach were particular subjects of tremendous interest to Serena’s hot, wet and loving mouth. And she couldn’t get enough of her woman either, happy to know, as Serena often reminded her, that nothing about her was carb-positive. Eating Serena was calorie-free.  
  
After a bite of ice cream, out of nowhere, Emily said, “I still don’t understand it. Le Bernadin. Why take Andy there? We both know it’s insanely expensive.”  
  
They’d had this discussion, off and on, for the week since the Post picture, with Serena forgoing the obvious explanation. She’d finally had it. She took a bite of ice cream, then said silkily, “English, please catch up. They’re doing the same thing we are.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Naked? Love? Sex?”  
  
Emily’s eyes widened so much that Serena laughed heartily.  
  
Emily huffed, “Miranda Priestly? And Andrea? No! That can’t possibly be true.”  
  
Serena offered her another little scoop of ice cream, then tapped her forehead very sweetly with the cold spoon, “You remember looking over the book with Miranda? Why do you get these little niceties from La Priestly nearly every time Andy comes around? Have you not said Miranda has been trying to teach you things? Who do you know who likes you and can influence Miranda this way? Not Nigel. Put all this information in your little computer and give me the answer.”    
  
Emily furrowed her brow and finally said, “Oh bollocks! Miranda’s fucking Andy Sachs!”  
  
“Or the other way around—Andy does not seem entirely passive to me.”  
  
Emily scowled, “Not because you’ve thought about her in that capacity, I assume?”  
  
Serena put the bowl on the bedside table and pulled Emily into her arms, kissing her deeply. “You are the only woman I think of in any capacity.” She smiled, “If people were to look at us as a couple, who do you they’d imagine would fuck whom?”  
  
“Well, you’re taller and slightly more fierce and perfect-looking. They’d think you’d fuck me.”   
  
“Probably so. Which means you fuck me first tonight, correct? We must keep the people on their toes.”  
  
As Emily reached down to find Serena already wet and willing, she asked suspiciously, “Is it me or the ice cream that has you so wet?”  
  
“A mixture of both, to be honest. Eating ice cream in bed with your naked lover is not a bad combination.”  
  
Emily agreed and, as she entered her, Serena sighed deeply and smiled beautifully, a smile that Emily still couldn’t quite believe was for her, “You’re so good, Emily. Only you. I love you, my English rose.”   
  
“And I love you.”  As Emily moved inside her lover, she kissed her, the one person who made her feel as perfect as she’d never thought she could possibly be.  
  


* * *

Sam did not feel perfect as he pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house. He felt apoplectic. He knocked loudly and his father opened the door—the look on his older face telling him everything. He was overwrought, as well.  
  
“I have some things to say to Mom.”  
  
“Not a good time, Sam.”  
  
“No. A perfect time, Dad.”  
  
His father put a gentle hand on Sam’s arm, “Seriously, we’re drinking some tea and trying to work this out.”  
  
“I’ve talked to Andy. Is there really anything to work out? At all? Mom's ruined it all.”  
  
His father conceded his point and let him into the house. Sam marched into the kitchen where he found his mother, her face swollen with crying, contorted in misery. And, normally, these signs of her sorrow and guilt would have made him stand down, but not this time.  
  
She looked up at him, “What are you doing here, Sam?”  
  
“What do you think? I’m here about my sister.”  
  
That got her dander up. “Your sister? Your _sister_? She’s _my_ daughter.”  
  
“Oh right. A fact you conveniently forgot talking to her earlier?”  
  
“I didn’t forget it, Samuel.”  She began to weep again.  
  
“Awww….wahhhh!  Boo fucking hoo!  Go on and cry like a baby, you bitch! You fucking should!,” Sam shouted.  
  
His father immediately moved between his son and wife.  
  
“You will lower your voice, Samuel, and no son of mine will talk to his mother in that language—not in my home, not while I’m alive.”  
  
Despite himself, Sam lowered his voice even as he, despite his best intentions, started to cry as well, “Fine! But as long as I’m alive, know these few things. You’ve both been the best parents I could hope for. But nobody— _nobody_ on this Earth hurts my sister the way you hurt her, Mom. No one. Not one person treats my Andy the way you did.”  
  
Richard’s mind reeled backward, seeing his son as if he were still three years old—intercepting a much bigger child trying to hurt his older sister. It was, evidently, genetic, inherent.  
  
Audrey said bitterly, attempting to defend herself. _“Your_ Andy? Your father and I created her. She’s our Andy.”  
  
Bad note yet again, Audrey, Richard thought.  
  
“ _Your_ Andy? You mean the dear daughter,” he thumped his chest with his fist, “you called a sex toy? The woman you,” he thumped his chest again, “called depraved? You said those words, those disgusting words, to _my_ sister?”  
  
His was actually snorting with outrage. “I’ll tell you this—I would pound the absolute fucking life out of any guy who said what you said about Andy. Not one person on this planet talks to her that way. And, by the way, I’m sick and fucking tired of this, Mom. You don’t get to say anything you want and then say, ‘oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it ’ an hour later. Andy was walking on air this morning and when I just talked to her she sounded like she’d been gutted—which she had—and by you. Your maternal filleting knife worked like a charm.”  
  
He glared at her and jabbed his finger in the air, “And just in case you’re wondering, the reason you said that shit and I never could and Dad never would is because it doesn’t ever enter our minds. At all. It’s fucked up enough beyond expression that it even enters yours’. It’s even more fucked up that you say it. Sure. You’re sorry now. I can see you are—but how about this? In the future, how about just keep your fucking mouth shut? Easy enough for adults, right? And we’re all adults here, right?  
  
Tears were coursing down his face—he could not stand to hurt anyone in his family, but Andy came first. “Know this last thing—if you ever say anything like that about my sister again and I hear about it, you won’t have one child—you’ll have no children.”  
  
He stalked out of the house and slammed the door on the way out.

* * *

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter one apply to all chapters.
> 
> A/N: FLASHBACK still in effect for this chapter.

* * *

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough, with Andy and Miranda trading loaded glances over the twins’ extravagant enjoyment of their calzones.  
  
As the Priestlys packed up to leave, Miranda said on the doorstep, “Please call me later.”  
  
“I will.” They stood there—for seconds.  
  
Cassidy rolled her eyes, “Mom? Geesh, go ahead and kiss her—we both know you do.”  
  
Miranda stalled for another second, then kissed Andy very tenderly on the lips. As they separated, Caroline seemed only a bit disgruntled but Cassidy shrugged and said, “See? We didn’t self-destruct.”  
  
“Night, Andy.”  
  
“Night, girls.” She looked into Miranda’s eyes, “I’ll talk to you later, love.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
When Andy closed the door, she put her forehead on the cool paint on the wooden surface of the door. What a day.  
  
She undressed and put on sweats and a T-shirt, smiling to herself as she thought that someday Miranda was going to have to get used to these as leisure wear. She thought about her conversation with her parents, which had been an atomic-bomb compared to their normal interactions with each other. She was still furious but she felt shame for the things she’d said. Not for those in defense of Miranda, but for those lashing out at her mother.  
  
She sat and wrote what she hoped would be a quick email but which took, in actuality, about an hour to complete because she’d finally begun to cry:  
  
_Daddy and Mother:  
  
I still believe we need to take a considerable break from each other but I wanted to apologize for one thing. I very deeply regret cursing you, Mother. It was disrespectful of me. Although you hurt me as much as anyone ever has, you are still my Mother and, because of your love and care for me throughout my lifetime, you deserve at least my self-control with you even when you don’t control yourself with me. I hope you will understand the words I used were a reaction to pain.  Even a dog that’s been hit by a car and badly injured can and will bite the person who loves it most in its pain and fright. That’s how I felt—crushed, in excruciating pain and frightened to have been run-over by something I hadn’t expected.  
  
Again, I believe it’s wise to stay away from each other for some time, so that we can all make what adjustments we need to make. I will always cherish you both but any lack of respect for my relationship with Miranda will always keep you at a certain distance. Not necessarily a ‘forever’ distance, despite my words, or even geographical, but an emotional distance. Perhaps in the future, if your feelings don’t change, we can meet and spend time together as lifelong friends, if nothing else.  
  
Again, I regret hurting you. But my pain is equal to or perhaps even greater than yours. All I’ve done to hurt you is love someone who loves me. All you’ve done is denigrate and humiliate me because I’m in love.  
  
I truly apologize for my disrespect.  
  
Your loving daughter, always,  
  
Andy_  
  
She ccd Sam and bccd Miranda.  
 

* * *

  
Miranda called her and almost instantly said, “You’ve been crying.”  
  
“You read my note to my parents?”  
  
“Yes. Very well stated. And I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
 “For your having had to send it at all.”  
  
Andy sighed, sniffed at bit, “Nothing can keep me from you, Miranda.”  
  
“Nothing can keep me from you. By the way, I believe my children are truly warming toward you.”  
  
“It’s the carbs, which are a plot on my part, by the way.”  
  
“Be that as it may, you’re rather winning yourself.”  
  
“Maybe,” she said with dubiety, “I wish I could sleep with you tonight.”  
  
“I do, too. Always, but especially when you’re hurting.”  
  
“Maybe soon.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“Every night?”  
  
“That’s my goal. Every night, always.”   
  
“Good. Love you.”  
  
“You, too.”  
  
After they’d said their good nights, Andy truly began to sob, because she’d distanced herself from her family and couldn’t even sleep in the same house with her chosen family. She was all alone—and felt it. And she cried until she fell asleep.

* * *

  
The next morning, when Andy checked her email, she found one from Sam:  
  
_Andy:  
  
It was a good note. Remember I’m beside you, behind you, in front of you, carrying you on my back—whatever you need. I’ll call you this week and call me any time, day or night, if you need me.  
  
I love you.  Sam._  
  
And then one from her mother:  
  
_Andy:  
  
Thank you for your kindness in writing. Your disrespect was warranted, my dear.  
  
No words…no words can express how I feel. Your father has been gentle and has supported me because he is my husband, but has made it so clear how much he despises what I said to you. I feel his disapproval reverberate through the house with every beat of my heart. I know you must remember how that can be, when he is deeply disappointed. Sam is furious with me, as he should be. You would not have believed what he felt it necessary to come to our home and say to me. Actually, knowing Sam, you would believe it. I almost felt physically afraid of him for the first time in my life, which was, again, entirely deserved.  
  
I am not perfect, Andrea. In fact, I’m deeply imperfect. You know I have a long history of saying things in haste far better left unsaid. I said things to you yesterday I’d rather cut my tongue out than have said. I think back on them and could almost laugh, were they funny. I don’t really even know what a sex toy is!  How could I say that to my daughter? And can you even think I could, in the wildest stretches of my imagination, believe or even imply you would expose minors to sexual acts? What was I saying? Or thinking? Nothing at all, obviously.  
  
I wish I could take back my words. I wish I could be reasonable 30 hours ago and realize I’d rather have a potential daughter-in-law two years younger than I and two instant grandchildren than lose my beloved daughter. Please forgive me. Please forgive me. If I could crawl at your feet this very minute, I would.  
  
I cannot un-say what I said but I can be better than the woman who said such awful things to someone she would rather die than hurt. Please, I beg you, forgive me. And meet us again—I beg you, not as friends but as your family. If you can’t, for some time, I will understand, but please, please give me some hope I haven’t cut a limb off from my very soul with my stupid, callous words.  
  
I love you with all of my heart and always will.   
  
Mommy_  
  
Andy finished the email, crying as she read it, thankful both for her mother’s words and for the fact she knew she could give her another chance, in time.  
  
She also thought of her beloved Miranda wailing on the floor and how she couldn’t, could never, have let her go through the misery she’d caused herself. And had stayed with her, still loving her so desperately. It had required almost no thought at all. The moment she instantly took her lover back into her arms after she had caused her such pain, her die was cast entirely with Miranda. Miranda and her children were her primary family now. The children would have to get used to it.  
 

* * *

  
It was astonishing how long it took a few lawyers and one school to draw up the conditions of a scholarship for one child but it was finally done. And it was finally time to meet Juan Carlo. Miranda scheduled the meeting with Juan Carlo and Wanda at exactly the time for her run-through that particular day, the better to charm the young man. She’d told Wanda the meeting might take some time and reminded her of its purpose, then said, “I will mean your son no harm—I hope you understand.”  
  
Wanda had giggled, “Oh _si_ , I look forward to it. He is so good and smart that he needs the knuckles in the pride sometimes.”  
  
As Miranda dressed that morning, she dressed as she would to meet a new hostile Elias Clarke board member. Black and ferocious couture that made her look far, far beyond the petty concerns of this world. Clothing that, with her white hair, made her look more than fairly ominous. She smiled in the mirror as she applied her lipstick—even Irv would adjust his tie when he saw her today.  
  
She laughed. All of this for a little boy. Then stopped laughing. No, actually. For Wanda.  
  
***  
Luckily, Miranda thought, as she walked in that morning and her eagle-eye surveyed what had been collected outside her door for the run-through, she wouldn’t have to put on an act for the Castillos. Appalling.  
  
As she passed Emily and threw her coat and bag on her desk, the young woman said “Good morning, Miranda,” without exactly looking up. Emily had been having a bit of trouble looking her employer in the eye for the past few days, now that she knew the woman was having it off with Andy Sachs. Miranda wasn’t stupid. She could almost smell the fact that Emily had finally heard the penny drop about Andy, much as she had heard the chunk of change dropping about Emily and Serena.  
  
There was nothing obviously different in Emily and Serena's behavior in the office, just as there was nothing obviously different to most people about two nearly identical shades of green, but she could still see both of them. In fact, as she thought about it, it had probably been Serena who’d hit Emily in the head with a roll of quarters in order to show her what was right before her eyes.  
  
Meanwhile, the Englishwoman was boiling with an anxiety this morning that would have to be addressed. She stepped deferentially into Miranda’s office. The woman didn’t look up, but said, “Yes, Emily?”  
  
“Miranda. It seems you have a bit of a scheduling conflict today. The run-through is set for one, as you know, but you have a meeting with Wanda and Juan Carlo Castillo at the same time.”  
  
Miranda turned the page of her paper and gazed up at Emily over her glasses, “There’s no conflict. They’ll be here to watch the run-through.”  
  
Emily blinked with surprise and nodded, yet hesitated.  
  
“Yes, Emily? Out with it.”  
  
“Well. Uhm.  But Juan Carlo is the scholarship boy, is he not?”  
  
“He is.”  
  
“I see,” Emily nodded again, looking even more confused while trying not to.  
  
“One question, Emily?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“If I were interested in, let’s say, expressing to Juan Carlo the true nature of the person giving him a scholarship, could you imagine any better way to introduce him to me than watching a run-through?”  
  
Emily swallowed hard. “Absolutely not one in the world.”  
  
“I thought not and am so gratified you agree. And one more thing.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I know I’d asked for Serena to begin attending these run-throughs, but I don’t wish for her to attend this one.”  
  
Emily felt her face flush scarlet, which naturally the bitch noticed. She could see it in those smirking blue eyes.  
  
Miranda said, in a deeply bored tone, “I don’t believe this run-through will go well at all and why expose Serena to anything for which she shares entirely no blame?” Then her tone turned silky, “I’m sure you, of all people, would agree with that, wouldn’t you, Emily?”  
  
Emily felt like her head would explode. “Of course not. I mean, of course. Quite right. I’ll let her know.”  
  
Miranda almost smiled, like a crocodile, “I’m sure you will. That’s all.”  
  
_Bloody hell_ , Emily thought as she exited the office.  
  
_Correct as usual_ , Miranda thought. _Emily and Serena. She couldn’t wait to tell Andy_. And she found herself more than a bit impressed with Emily.  
  
Serena, of all people! Who could probably have virtually anyone she set eyes on. Evidently, her first assistant was shooting with more heavy weaponry than she’d imagined. Miranda was very gradually beginning, although she wouldn’t admit it to Andy in order to keep the girl’s head from swelling unduly, to perceive something of what her lover saw in her assistant.

* * *

  
Meanwhile, Emily was phoning Serena and telling her not to attend the run-through. Then she hissed into the phone, “Beside all that, she bloody knows!”  
  
“Knows what?”  
  
“You know. Knows about….”  
  
“Oh….us?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“I could tell.”  
  
Serena sounded less than worried, “Did she seem angry?”  
  
“No. Just…smirking and all-knowing.”  
  
“Which is different in which way?”  
  
Emily exhaled, “I suppose not much.”  
  
“I would not think about it. She likes knowing things. We are professional at work. That’s all I believe she cares about. I am glad I won’t be there for the run-through. Too much kitsch, especially in the skirts.”  
  
“Talk to you soon?”  
  
“It can never be too soon, English.”

* * *

  
No sooner had Emily put down the phone, she heard, “Emily?”  
  
Emily rushed into Miranda’s office. “Yes, Miranda?”  
   
“You told Serena?”  
  
Emily blushed again, God damn her English complexion, “Yes. As you asked.”  
  
“Oh? And what did she say?” Emily suddenly wanted to throttle Miranda.  
  
“She said she was glad she wouldn’t be here—that there was far too much kitsch in the skirts.”  
  
“Very good. Impressive, even. Kitsch is like paprika—reasonable only if used sparingly.”  
  
Emily nodded, waiting to be released.  
  
Miranda looked her over and then stared into her eyes, which made the young woman’s spine feel like butter. “Emily?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
Emily blinked. “Care? About?”  
  
Miranda nodded, slowly. “Yes.” She paused, significantly, “About.”  
  
Emily flushed again. “Oh, I see. About. Yes. Well. Right.”  
  
“Just as you don’t care, do you?” This was not a question.  
  
Their eyes met and they both knew what they knew and would act as if they didn’t.  
  
“Not in the slightest.”  
  
“Can you think of any person on Earth who might even remotely be able to influence me to have a conversation of such a private nature with you? A conversation that could not leave this room?”  
  
Emily gulped, “Perhaps one.”  
  
“Yes. You have one rather ferocious advocate with me whom you do not value in the slightest. You certainly needn’t become friends or inseparable but you might remember that fact when speaking to that person.”  
  
“Of course, Miranda.”  
  
“That’s all.”

* * *

  
When Wanda walked Juan Carlo into the Elias Clarke building, she was even more overwhelmed than she’d been at Miranda’s home. The security desk said that they’d been expected, gave them visitors’ passes and pointed them toward the elevators. Wanda and Juan Carlo were wearing, essentially, what they’d wear to church and Wanda thought her son looked very handsome in his dark trousers, pressed shirt and tie.  
  
When the elevator opened on the main floor of _Runway_ , Wanda’s mouth dropped open. Glass everywhere, everything beautiful, too beautiful to be real. And very well-dressed people were moving quickly, obviously with purpose and looking frightened, as if the very devil were after them.  
  
She shyly gave her name to the receptionist and, in a few moments, a pretty woman with an English accent quickly approached them, “Ms. Castillo, Juan Carlo? I’m Emily, Miranda’s assistant. Please follow me." As they did so, Emily asked, “Might I get you some coffee, tea or water?”  
  
“Perhaps some water, Ms. Emily?” Wanda’s mouth suddenly felt dry.  
  
“Of course, and I’ll bring some for your son, as well.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Emily walked them toward Miranda’s office and announced the visitors. Miranda had been turned toward the window and swung around in her chair.  
  
_Dios Mio_ , Wanda thought. The office was enormous and _la jefa_ certainly looked different now that she was healthy and at her job. Very scary almost.  
  
Miranda smiled, crossed to Wanda and air kissed both cheeks, “Wanda, how lovely to see you.”  
  
She looked down on her son and offered her hand, “Miranda Priestly. I’m pleased to meet you. ”  
  
He shook it firmly, “The pleasure is mine, Ms. Priestly. Juan Carlo Castillo.”  
  
She nodded with approval. Good manners and he was a terrifically handsome little boy and although masculine, almost pretty.  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll both have to take a seat, right here in front of my desk if you don’t mind, while I go through a little business. It shouldn’t take long at all.”  
  
“No, of course not,“ Wanda said, as Emily brought water for both of them and placed coasters on Miranda’s desk.  
  
“They’re ready, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda gave Emily a look she knew too well, “We both know they’re not, don’t we?”  
  
Emily smiled a sickly smile and nodded.  
  
Wanda noticed that the Miranda who’d greeted her and Juan Carlo was the person she knew but as the woman turned toward the door, she almost instantly seemed much colder, much harder. Like hard ice. What had she said they called her, as well? Oh _si_ , the Ice Queen.  
  
Nigel had been dealing with a raging cock-up of a ten-page spread and hadn’t had a second to see what Jocelyn, Lucia and Estella had put together. It took him five seconds to realize this was going to get very quiet and bloody and very quickly.  
  
As the women wheeled in the racks and Nigel followed, he noted what Miranda was wearing and almost swore under his breath. Dressed for battle. It would be worse than he’d thought.  
  
“Nigel, Jocelyn, Lucia, Estella, these are my guests, Wanda and Juan Carlo Castillo. I have a meeting with them immediately after our run-through so I hope you don’t mind if they watch.”  
  
Nigel smoothed one eyebrow. Oh. Shit. So this was going to be a show trial. And execution. He almost felt sorry for the girls but if they were going to put together such a slipshod run-through, they almost deserved it.  
  
Miranda looked over the racks for two seconds, pursed her lips and said, quietly, “Nigel, what’s all this?”  
  
He put up both hands, the only person in the building from whom she'd actually accept an excuse, “It was either that ten-page spread or supervise this.”  
  
“Ah yes, the ten-page spread,” she said, as she flipped through the clothes on the racks,“a feature that seemed both a deliberate act of war on my aesthetic sensibilities and a complete lack of sufficient preparation. Much as this appears to be. Were we at sea, lives might be lost. Luckily, here, it’s only jobs. Alright, ladies, what do you have for me?”   
  
Wanda and Juan Carlo could see raw fear in the women’s eyes. Wanda looked to the man, who seemed ready for something very, very terrible to happen and she almost writhed in her chair. The air in the room was almost crackling. Juan Carlo looked at his mother and they could see tension and fear in each other’s eyes.  
  
For about ten exquisitely painful minutes, Miranda shot down each woman’s suggestions with a preemptive, quiet, “No.”  
  
At one point, Jocelyn produced a skirt that made Miranda smile that terrible, fake smile they all hated and feared. “Oh, finally! I see. This is a joke. This whole run-through has been a joke. Nigel, dear,“ she said, in that fake, sweet tone they also hated and feared, “you might have told me. Then I wouldn’t have taken this complete disaster so seriously.”  
  
He nodded, knowing better than to say a word.  
  
“Ladies, anything to say for yourselves?”  
  
Wanda and Juan Carlo could see all three were horribly frightened and the Estella woman was visibly trembling, but she said, “I’m sorry, Miranda, we—“  
  
“No no. You’re new here, Estella. Perhaps you don’t understand that there are no apologies in this building. Apologies bore me. Excuses bore me. Incompetence bores me. Nothing else, ladies?”  
  
They stood silently, waiting.  
  
“I thought not. After all, what can one, as a professional, say about a complete failure to perform one’s most basic responsibilities? Perhaps I should have Emily call maintenance to check whether there’s a carbon monoxide leak in your offices? I suppose it’s possible given the semi-conscious state you all seemed to have been in while assembling this ridiculous collection.”  
  
They didn’t answer, knowing they weren’t supposed to.  
  
She sniffed, then said, “You have until this time tomorrow to redo this. So—tomorrow—I expect a run-through. Not a joke, a crawl-through, a stumble-through, or walk-through. A run-through. Nigel, I give you my permission to take a few hours from the spread to assist them. Nigel’s resources are more valuable to me than all of yours put together, ladies. It is a gift to you from me that I'm making them available to you. Despite my reputation,” she said grimly, “I don’t necessarily enjoy firing people. Which is what will happen if I see anything like this again. That’s all.”  
  
The women all said variations of “Thank you, Miranda,” as they wheeled the racks away.  
  
Nigel remained and merely said, “ _Oy_.”  
  
“Indeed. Honestly, Nigel, look it over and if it’s just as bad, tell me why and who’s responsible.”  
  
“You got it.” He stopped before leaving and extended his hand to Wanda, “Nigel Kipling.”  
  
As she shook it and introduced herself, he noticed her hand was damp, as was her son’s when they shook hands. He winked at them and said, with a sardonic smile, “Welcome to _Runway_.”  
  
Miranda called Emily into the office and rattled off a list of instructions that Wanda could hardly keep up with listening to them, much less writing them down as Emily seemed to be doing. “That’s all.” Emily nodded and left.  
  
Which left Miranda and the Castillos.  
  
Miranda put on her glasses, took a swallow of water and smiled a real smile, which made Wanda’s blood pressure lower a bit. “Alright, back to business. Juan Carlo, would you like to go to the Dalton School?”  
  
“Oh _si_ , I would—it would be the best opportunity for me,” he said in lightly accented English.  
  
Miranda tilted her head and looked over glasses. “You were born in the United States, Juan Carlo, were you not?”  
  
“ _Si_.”  
  
“Yes. So you actually have no accent and you do not use the word ‘ _si_ ’ with your classmates, do you?”  
  
“No, Ms. Miranda.”  
  
“Why use it with me?”  
  
A mischievous look crossed his face, “Because it charms the ladies?”  
  
Wanda goggled at her son, “Juan Carlo!”  
  
Miranda held up a hand to Wanda and her lips twitched as she said in a quiet, deadly tone, “Do you think, Juan Carlo, given what you’ve seen today that it might charm… _me_?”  
  
Having seen her now, knowing himself so imperfect and that she would never give him such a scholarship, he shrugged as if all were already lost and he might as well tell the truth, “You seem very frightening and hard to impress. I had to try something, Ms. Miranda.”  
  
She actually laughed, “I suppose you did. Good try. Did you Google me, Juan Carlo. Do you know who I am?”  
  
“Yes. You are the ‘international voice of fashion.’”  
  
“That I am. Do you know what that means in dollars?”  
  
“Billions.”  
  
“Yes. If I’d made one decision about those ridiculous clothes earlier, that could mean millions of dollars.”  
  
“Millions of dollars with just one decision coming from,” she tapped her forehead, “here. Unless you reach your potential, I am very likely the most influential person you will ever meet. Do you understand that?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, looking at the floor, seemingly greatly deflated since entering her office, which was her intention.  
  
“But, Juan Carlo, I believe you will reach your potential and I believe Dalton could help you achieve that.”  
  
He looked up, disbelieving, “You would still send me there?”  
  
“I am going to send you there. And do you know why?”  
  
His mind was churning. He thought for a bit and replied, “Because you want to help underprivileged children?”  
  
“No. That’s not the answer. You have two hard-working parents who love you. You are not underprivileged. You must understand, I can call the governor of New York right now, the president of France or even the United States and they will take my calls. Although they will take my calls, they are not my friends. I consider your mother a friend. She wishes the best for you. For that reason alone, so do I. I wanted to meet you to tell you that it is your mother’s goodness that has given you this opportunity. You will meet many wealthy children at that school, mine included. And you will eventually reach beyond your parents in your standard of living, as all parents hope for their children.”  
  
She took another swallow of water.  
  
“I have not met your father but I assume he is good, or your mother would not have married him. I want you to always remember this opportunity comes to you from your parents as much as from me. You won’t be perfect and this will be a big change and adjustment for you. I understand that. But if I ever hear of your beginning to disrespect them or your forgetting to whom you owe so much, I wanted you to see who I really am. And that I could cut you off,” she snapped her fingers, “like that.”  
  
“Yes, Ms. Miranda.”  
  
“Then we understand each other?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She stood and they followed suit.  
  
“Good. You start school at Dalton next week. Wanda, Emily has a check for Juan Carlo’s books and school clothes. I asked my daughters for suggestions about the clothes and she has a list. She’s also compiled a small notebook of things for you all to learn about the school and its expectations. Juan Carlo?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Can you use a Mac?”  
  
“Yes. That is what we have at school.”  
  
She walked around the desk, “Good. You should have a new Mac laptop delivered to your house tomorrow. It would be today but my girls said you might like to choose your own color. You let Emily know and it’s yours.”   
  
Juan Carlo started to cry fat tears then rubbed them away before spontaneously leaping at Miranda and hugging her tightly. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Miranda! I will be a good boy! You’ll see.”  
  
One could have knocked Miranda over with a feather. She couldn’t remember being willingly hugged by any child except her own in her life. It brought tears to her eyes and Wanda was frankly crying. Miranda ran her hand through his hair, and said, “Shhh, Juan Carlo. You’re very welcome and I know you’re a good boy and always will be. You’re just like your parents.”  
  
Emily, who’d basically heard all of this had now-- _truly_ heard it all. Good Lord. Who knew? Miranda? Protector and Defender of Children? She couldn’t wait to tell Serena.

* * *

  
On a Monday, one week later, as Juan Carlo entered school with his backpack, new clothes and Mac, he felt he might throw up from anxiety. But, as he entered the door, two red-haired girls came to greet him.  
  
“Are you Juan Carlo?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m Caroline Priestly and this is my sister, Cassidy. We’re Miranda Priestly’s daughters. Stick with us and we’ll take of you, okay?”  
  
He almost melted with gratitude. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem—let’s see your schedule.” He pulled it out. “Okay—Cass—you have first period with him. I have second. We’ll meet you in the hall to show you third.”  
  
Cassidy lowered her voice, “Don’t tell the kids you have a scholarship, okay? Most of them are snobs. Just tell them your mom’s a friend of Miranda Priestly’s. That usually handles it. If it doesn’t, let us know.”  
  
He nodded and then whispered a question no boy who was remotely self-assured would, “Do I look alright, do you think? I mean—to be here?”  
  
They looked him over, “Absolutely,” they said in twin unison. And although their mother had asked, as a special favor to her, for them to look out for Juan Carlo, they decided in twin emotional unison that they liked this boy, as their mother had told them they would.  
  
As Cassidy led him to first period, chattering away about this and that, Juan Carlo’s nausea disappeared.

* * *

  
That Tuesday, Miranda called Mike Anderson and requested permission for a particular and private favor, which he granted.  
  
She then called Peter Sagong, who’d she’d met during an event one year earlier.

On that night, he’d seemed shy and incredibly diffident as he’d approached her.  
  
_“Ms. Priestly, may I introduce myself?” She noticed he had no accent but had almost bowed and had probably trained himself out of this custom. She nodded._  
  
_“I am Peter Sagong, and I have much admired your work for years.”_  
  
_She took his hand and could see him almost shaking with the anxiety of meeting her, something she was used to. But she was always impressed by those few who ginned up the courage to introduce themselves to her without pretext._  
  
_“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Sagong. What brings you to our event?”_  
  
_He’d blushed. “It was luck—so much luck. I was lucky to procure one ticket and even now I do not know how to say why am I here, if I may be so bold to say so. You see, my employers would not, perhaps, appreciate that I enjoy fashion as I do.”_  
  
_She looked into his kind and beautiful, yet somehow, pensive eyes and knew his employers might not appreciate fashion or anything else he happened to be. She felt a deep tugging of empathy she had for anyone reaching out for something different._  
  
_She smiled warmly, “I understand and I’m so very glad to meet you. Mr. Sagong. Particularly, because my husband can’t come to this gathering because of other responsibilities. Might you escort me for the rest of the evening? It would give you a reason to be here, should pictures be taken, you see. You can always say you were escorting a friend, as you are as of this moment. Call me Miranda, Peter.”_  
  
_She felt his arm tremble lightly as she took it but he quickly became himself. She quite soon found him charming, delightful, intelligent and an FBI agent._  
  


* * *

  
And so, two days after Miranda's call, Mike Anderson received a visitor Andy fully expected. He walked him out into the office and said, “People, this is Peter Sagong. As you know, our network admin couldn’t tell us anything about the break-in on Sachs’ computer, so I called in a favor. Mr. Sagong works for the FBI and specializes in computer forensics.”  
  
“Mr. Sagong, anything to say?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, smiling genially, “if any of you have anything to admit, you should do so now. Unless the box or network has been completely exploded, I will find it. I have a 99.5% kill rate on the best hackers in the world.”  
  
“Why?” Alicia said.  
  
“What do you mean, Bowden,” Mike asked.  
  
“Why involve the FBI? It was just a stupid prank.”  
  
Mike smiled. “One. Because I could. Two. Because a stupid prank would be pinning a picture to Sachs’ computer. Getting past her password and changing her computer is not a stupid prank.”  
  
“Indeed not,” Peter said, “In some places of work, it would guarantee an indictment.”  
  
Mike looked around the room, “Any takers before Peter takes you down?”  
  
Every person in the newsroom, except Alicia, was entirely thrilled.  
  
Alicia hesitated, then said with bitterness and scorn in her voice, “Okay! I did it! It was a stupid joke.”  
  
Peter nodded without emotion, “Very good, show me how you did it.”  
  
She nodded and Peter rounded her desk to watch. When she’d finished, he smiled, “Very good, Alicia. Most admins wouldn’t see this. Most 14-year-old hackers, however, could eat you for lunch. Now, we will see what you’ve done to others’ email accounts and files during your tenure here.”  
  
She blanched, “What?”  
  
“The emails you’ve changed, the files you’ve changed. I’ll find it all. Your signature is as large as John Hancock’s and I already know you’ve done it.”  
  
“Why would you think I’d done anything like that?”  
  
“Because I work with criminals, Alicia. You have a criminal mind. They start and they keep going until they die or they’re caught. You may not have done anything worthy of indictment yet, but continue on this path and you will.”  
  
Alicia suddenly leapt up and screamed “You _CUNT!_ ” at Andy. Peter and Mike grabbed Alicia and Matthew and Reggie jumped in front of Andy.  
  
Andy was astonished, “What’d I do?”  
  
“I KNOW you were behind this—or that bitch who protects you!"  
  
Peter’s voice was quiet, even soothing, “You will comport yourself correctly, Ms. Bowden, and collect your things or I promise you, I can imagine some criminal charges coming your way. Especially, most especially, if you threaten anyone in my hearing. I am not friendly to your cause; I am Federal.”  
  
Mike grabbed a box and handed it to Alicia and she packed quickly. As she did so, Mike gave her the rundown of HR documents she would be receiving in the next week. She nodded and stared at Andy the entire time. Andy had always thought the saying ‘staring daggers’ at someone was a cliché but evidently it wasn’t. Alicia wanted to kill her.  
  
As Alicia left the building, the newsroom cheered lustily.  
  
Mike smiled and took Peter back into his office. When Peter finally came out and was leaving, he shook Andy’s hand, “I’m sorry that woman said harsh things to you, miss.”  
  
She smiled shyly, while feeling him transferring a piece of paper through their clasped hands, “It’s okay. I never expected anything better from her.”  
  
“Indeed not. I’ll keep an eye on her, in fact.”  
  
“Thanks, Mr. Sagong.”  
  
He nodded and left. As the newsroom buzzed, Andy took her seat and surreptitiously unfolded the piece of paper Peter had given her.  
  
It said:  
  
_I love you. Fight your own battles. But you will never fight without your old war-horse._

* * *

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter 1 apply to all chapters.
> 
> AN: ***END FLASHBACK!*** This chapter occurs the morning after the rat attack. Please remember, the flashback to the month before rat situation started mid-chapter 15.

* * *

Andy woke, still faintly woozy, and threw on a long robe over her underwear. She shuffled downstairs, her hand throbbing horribly, smelling breakfast and coffee, both of which she assumed she needed.  
  
As she entered the kitchen, all eyes were on her. Miranda took one look at her, kissed her forehead, and led her into a seat.  
  
The girls said in twin unity, “Morning, Andy.”  
  
She semi-smiled. “Morning.”  
  
Miranda ran one hand through Andy’s hair. “How do you feel?”  
  
“My hand hurts.”  
  
“Yes, as Dr. Allen said it would. Do you think you could eat at least one piece of French toast and a bit of turkey bacon and milk so you can take some medicine?”  
  
Andy nodded mournfully, “I guess so but I think I need my medicine first and some coffee, too.” She was pouting so much like a three-year-old child that Miranda wanted to scoop her up, hold and kiss her.  
  
Miranda patted her gently. “Yes, darling, coffee if you want. But this pain medication seems a bit strong for you. I don’t know whether you want to mix your metaphors, so to speak. Why don’t you eat just a little first and then you can have your pain medicine and antibiotic and they won’t be on an empty stomach, alright? And if you still feel like having coffee after that, have it then, okay?”  
  
Andy nodded grumpily.  
  
Looking into Andy’s pained, sleepy face, both girls felt terribly chagrined by her injury in their defense.  
  
“Does it really hurt, Andy?”  
  
The dark head bobbed. “Really, really bad.” She turned to Miranda and said, “It’s all swollen and the bandage is too tight now.”  
  
Miranda agreed, “Yes. Dr. Allen said I’d have to rewrap it today and showed me how last night, remember?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”  
  
Though it was wearing off, Miranda saw the pain medication and Andy’s system were not very happy with each other. She was acting as if she’d just had about six shots of tequila. Still, if the poor girl was hurting…  
  
She placed a plate with one piece of French toast and two slices of turkey bacon plus a glass of milk in front of Andy. For some reason, Andy felt this emotionally touching. She flung her good arm around Miranda and said, “Thank you very, very much.”  
  
Miranda looked down and scratched her lover’s beloved noggin and said, “You’re welcome very much. I’m just sorry John isn’t here—then I’d have every person I love most in the whole world right in the same room. Wouldn’t that be nice?”  
  
Andy nodded vigorously into Miranda’s robe and the girls grinned. It was sort of surprising to hear their mother include Andy but they always loved hearing her say how much she still loved their father. It made them feel like they were still a family even though they lived apart.  
  
Miranda gently separated herself from Andy’s grip and patted her on the shoulder, “Try to eat it all, sweetheart. It’s not much.”  
  
As Andy made a half-hearted attempt at her breakfast, Miranda watched her closely and the girls watched their mother just as closely. This wasn’t Stephen, at all. Not at all. Their mother didn’t just love Andy; she adored Andy.  
  
Andy glumly ate her French toast and bacon, and drank her milk, shooting pouting looks at their mother.  
  
“Very good, Andrea. Just a few more bites.”  
  
Andy finished her breakfast and scowled, “Can I have my medicine now?”  
  
“Yes, dear.”  
  
She poured another splash of milk into Andy’s glass and handed the young woman her medicine, who frowned as she took it. “I need to take a shower and I can’t because I can’t get my hand or arm wet and I don’t have any clothes to wear.”  
  
“I’ll help you with your shower. We’ll tape a plastic bag over your arm. I have clothes upstairs for you and once you’ve had your bath, I’ll re-wrap your hand, okay?”  
  
“You have clothes upstairs?”  
  
“Do I have clothes? I’m Miranda Priestly. I clothe the world, remember?”  
  
Andy sighed, smiling, “Oh, yeah.”  
  
Miranda said to the girls, “Be ready by 10:30—we want to get there before the crowds.”  
  
Andy shook her head, “Wait-a-minute. Where are you guys going?”  
  
“To the zoo.”  
  
“You’re going to the zoo? Without me?”  
  
Miranda pulled Andy into her arms. “Never without you without a reason. But you need rest, don’t you? Admit it.”  
  
Andy felt like she’d been run over by a truck. Pain medication always hit her this way. “Okay, I guess. But what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”  
  
“Sleep, dear. Or rest.”  
  
“Oh. Okay. I guess that would be good. Will you take pictures?”  
  
Miranda looked into her daughters’ eyes. They were all very close to laughing.  
  
Cassidy said, “Yep, we’ll take lots and show them to you when we get back.”  
  
“Of giraffes?”  
  
Miranda smiled, “Especially of giraffes.”  
  
“Then I guess that’s okay.”  
  
“Thank you, Andrea.”

* * *

Miranda was better than Andy could have imagined as a nurse. She taped a plastic bag around her arm and showered with her, gently swatting Andy’s wandering good hand a few times. “None of that, Andrea.” Her voice was serious but her eyes were kind. “Absolutely nothing about bathing an injured, woozy and drugged woman standing on a wet, slippery surface is conducive to romance for me.”  
  
Once Andy was washed and clothed in a robe, Miranda dried her hair so sweetly and gently that Andy almost fell asleep.  She then re-bandaged the young woman’s hand splint to accommodate the swelling that had occurred overnight.  
  
“There you go.”  
  
Andy smiled. “What about clothes?”  
  
“Sit on the bed.”  
  
Miranda pulled a few items out of her closet. She helped Andy into _La Perla_ lingerie. Typical, Andy thought. But then she helped her into a pair of distressed Levis that were at least one size too large.  At Andy’s questioning glance, Miranda said, “I thought you’d like them bigger—for comfort.”  
  
Andy nodded as Miranda handed her a man’s Hanes T-shirt. She put it on and was astonished, next, to find a huge brown Northwestern sweatshirt ready for her. _Pret a porter_ , indeed.  
  
Miranda then knelt and slipped shoes onto Andy’s feet. Birkenstocks.  
  
At this gesture, Andy began to cry.  
  
Miranda’s face was troubled as she stood and wiped Andy’s tears from her cheeks. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”  
  
“No. You did everything perfectly right. As usual.”  
  
“Perfection from me? And this surprises you why?”  
  
Andy smiled but the pain medication was making her weepy, “You do know you’ll never, ever get rid of me, don’t you?”  
  
“That’s my plan.”  
  
“I love you more than anything, Miranda.”  
  
“And I love you, darling.”  
  
Andy snuggled into Miranda’s neck, “Good.”  
  
When they’d finished snuggling and kissing, Miranda said, “Andy, I believe our relationship is about to become much more public.” She explained the _Post_ pictures and what they might mean. So, beside the fact you really shouldn’t be walking around feeling the way you do, I really think you should stay inside today, okay?”  
  
Andy shrugged, “Okay.”  
  
“Are you upset?”  
  
“Upset?” Andy gave this some thought and then a slow shake of her head, “Nope. I don’t think so.”  
  
Miranda sighed. What else could she expect? The woman was on drugs.

* * *

Once the girls were dressed and ready, Miranda peered out the front door. She’d also explained the _Post_ situation to her daughters and they’d merely nodded.  
  
She scoped the street. Bingo. Only a few.  
  
“How many, Mom?”  
  
“Maybe ten photographers.”  
  
“That’s all? Who cares? We know the drill. Let’s go to the zoo.”  
  
Miranda hated the fact that her children were media pros at such a young age but was proud they seemed unfazed by it.  
  
Andy was at the door, looking about five sheets to the wind. Good Lord. Honestly, Miranda thought, she was calling the pharmacy as soon as she got home to ask whether she could give the young woman one half of her Percocet, knowing some pills couldn’t be split. She didn’t want her Andy in pain but she was feeling absolutely no pain. And thinking no thoughts, either, evidently.  
  
“Sweetheart?”  
  
Andy smiled, “Huh?”  
  
“I made you a sandwich and some snacks and they’re in the fridge in case you get hungry. There’s no reason at all for you to use the stove, okay? Promise you won’t?  
  
Andy nodded solemnly.  
  
“And you promise that you and Patricia will just watch TV or read or take a nap?”  
  
Andy’s head bobbed up, “Patricia!”  
  
“Right. You and Patricia will spend time together while we go to the zoo, okay?”  
  
Another nod, “Patricia!”  
  
_Oh dear God_ , Miranda thought, _was it safe to leave the poor thing by herself_?  
  
As if Andy had read her mind, she suddenly shook her head violently, “I’m sorry—yeah, I’ll just go to the den and watch a movie or TV or something. We’ll be fine.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Cassidy hugged Andy quite spontaneously and said, “I hope you feel better, Andy.”  
  
Whether spurred by her twin’s gesture or genuinely motivated, Caroline followed suit, “Me, too.”  
  
“Thanks guys. Have fun at the zoo.”  
  
Miranda gave Andy a quick kiss on the lips and stroked her cheek. “Back in just a while, okay?”  
  
They heard a horn beeping. “Alright girls, out into the fray! Remember, chins up. They don’t matter one whit. We do. That’s why they’re out there.”  
  
Cassidy added with a bored tone, “And absolutely no speaking to the vultures.”  
  
Caroline rolled her eyes, “Geesh, Mom—you act like we haven’t done this tons of times.”  
  
Miranda donned her sunglasses and smiled at her girls, “I’ll try to keep that in mind in the future.”  
   
“See that you do,” the twins said in voices that sounded uncannily like their mother. Andy giggled.  
  
Miranda was amused but ignored all of them. “Out we go. See you soon, Andrea. Remember to lock the door,” she felt it necessary to say.  
  
“Will do, chief. Don’t worry. No stove. No nothing except TV and sleep.”  
  
Better, Miranda thought.

When they left, Andy called loudly, “Patricia?” Patricia lumbered around the corner toward her, always glad to have a companion.  
  
One hour later, as she was petting Patricia, whose huge head was firmly placed in her lap as they watched television, she decided to call her parents. The medicine had her firmly in its grip. She wasn’t seeing exactly two TVs, more like one and a half TVs.  As she squinted and tried to concentrate, she forgot she was even on the outs with her parents. Although she hadn’t actually spoken to them since their big blow-up, they’d exchanged relatively pleasant emails and that was about it.  
  
She dialed their number, with some difficulty, and got the answering machine. She said, in a slurring stream of consciousness, “Hi Dad. Hi. Mom. It’s dumb but I got all chewed up by a really big rat and Miranda had to take me to the Emergency Room. I got stitches in my finger and my arm and a rabies shot and my finger’s in a thing and I’m staying with Miranda and the girls because I don’t feel good and they have to take care of me. And she taped a bag around my arm to give me a shower and I have to have four more rabies shots and go to the hand specialist on Monday. My finger hurts, and I had French toast and turkey bacon this morning, and they went to the zoo and I’m watching TV with Patricia and I just thought I’d say hello. Hello. Love you. Oh yeah. I forgot—Patricia is a St. Bernard. Oh. And this is Andy. Bye.”

Four hours later, Miranda and the children entered a silent house. “Cassidy, go see whether Andrea’s in the den. But be quiet—she might be napping.”  
  
Cassidy nodded and when she emerged from the den she had her hand clapped over her mouth. She then put her finger to her lips and whispered to Caroline and her mother, “We totally have to get a picture of this.”  
  
They all tiptoed into the den, where they found Andy on the floor. She’d placed a throw pillow from the couch in front of the TV to rest her head upon and had her bad arm and a leg flung over a slumbering Patricia. Caroline took a couple of pictures before Miranda stooped down and ran her fingers through Andy’s hair, “Darling?”  
  
Patricia thumped her tail and Miranda patted her kindly as well, “Yes, you’re darling, too, Patricia. Andrea?”  
  
Andy’s eyes didn’t open but she murmured, “Miranda? Are you home? And the girls?”  
  
“It would seem so.”  
  
“Oh. Good. I’m glad.” She buried her face in the dog’s fur again.  
  
Miranda shared a look of disbelief with the girls before gently shaking Andy’s shoulder, “Darling, why are you on the floor?”  
  
Andy frowned, “I’m taking a nap.”  
  
“I see that. Why on the floor?”  
  
“Patricia wouldn’t get on the couch.”  
  
“Yes, Patricia has been trained not to get on the furniture.”  
  
“But I could tell Patricia wanted to take a nap with me so we got on the floor.”  
  
“Well, isn’t that nice? I think the girls would like to take Patricia out for a quick walk. Okay? Would you like to get into our bed and finish your nap?”  
  
Andy sat up like a punch-drunk boxer, opened her eyes and flung her arms around Miranda, nestling into her neck, “You’d take a nap with me?”  
  
“No dear, I’m going to make a late lunch for all of us while you rest.”  
  
“But I want you to sleep with me because you—“ Miranda quickly placed two warning fingers over Andy’s mouth, “the girls are in the room with us, Andrea.”  
  
Andy spritzed laughter through the fingers, “I know that. I was just going to say I want you to nap with me because Patricia smells really good but you smell even better.”  
  
The girls knew better than to laugh, which Miranda appreciated, “Well, thank you very much, Andrea. That’s certainly no faint praise. I’d prefer that you got into our bed so that you can rest more comfortably.”  
  
“But I’ll miss you.”  
  
“I’m going to be in the kitchen, darling.”  
  
“I don’t just mean you. I’ll miss all of you. If I rest on the couch, the girls can watch TV or play games and Patricia can stay and I’ll know you’re all here with me. Okay?”  
  
Miranda looked at the girls, who both nodded, “Okay. That sounds good. Up we go.”  
  
As she helped Andy to her feet, she asked, “How do you feel?”  
  
“Weird and my hand hurts just a tiny bit but I think it’s okay.”  
  
“Good. When you finish your lunch, you can have some more medicine. I called the pharmacy on the way home and I think you need to take half a Percocet, okay? See if that works?”  
  
Andy bobbed her head obligingly and plowed into the couch, “Whatever you say chief. You’re the boss.”  
  
As Miranda placed a pillow under her head and covered her with a throw blanket, she said, “How delightfully obedient of you. And people wonder why I miss you at work.”  
  
“Because I’m so cute,” Andy smiled into the pillow.  
  
“Yes. That, too. Get some rest.”  
  
“You didn’t kiss me.”  
  
Miranda kissed her resoundingly on the cheek, “Sleep now.”

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Richard and Audrey Sachs came home from a long shopping trip and casually pressed the voicemail button on their answering machine.  
  
Their daughter’s voice filled the room and both were so glad to hear it that they felt tears spring into their eyes.  
  
When the message was over, Audrey pressed it again, just to hear her sweet, beloved voice. Once they’d listened again, they said in unison, “Pain pills.”  
  
Richard looked at his wife. “I’ll call her back.”  
  
“No. Let me.”  
  
“Audrey? What if Miranda answers?”  
  
“Then I’ll be who I should have been when Andy first talked to us about her. I will not hurt our daughter that way again.”  
  
“Don’t. Do not. Our family will not survive it if you do, Audrey. I mean that.”  
  
She saw both tenderness and hard truth in his eyes. He didn’t just mean the children—he meant their relationship.  
  
“I know that, Richard.” She looked at the caller ID and dialed the number.

Miranda had gotten the vegetable stir-fry under control enough just to stir it occasionally. She’d decided to cook it a little longer, to make it a little less crunchy, perhaps more palatable to Andrea’s stomach.  
  
The phone rang and she picked up without looking at the caller ID.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
“Hello…Ms. Priestly?”  
  
“Speaking.”

“This is Audrey Sachs.”  
  
“Ah. I see. Hello, Ms. Sachs.”  
  
Audrey hesitated before saying, “I’m calling because Andy left us a message from this number telling us she’d been bitten by a rat and a few other very interesting and sweet things that sounded like pain medicine talking. She’s always been overly affected by pain medication.”  
  
Miranda felt a great deal of anger toward this woman that was exacerbated by the fear she felt. The fear originated from the fact this was her beloved’s mother, necessitating her being careful and she hated having to be careful. She was completely unused to having to mince words with anyone. “Yes. She certainly is. In fact, I talked to the pharmacy earlier and I’m backing her off of that medicine. I would never have her in pain but she needs to be able to walk and talk, if you see my point.”  
  
“Perfectly. Ms. Priestly, may I—“  
  
“Call me Miranda. Everyone does.”  
  
“Miranda, then. And please call me Audrey. May I speak to my daughter?”  
  
“She’s asleep, Audrey, but I’m sure she’d love to speak with you. She wanted to stay with our children and our dog in the den so she’s napping there. I can’t promise you that she’ll make any sense when you speak to her but I suppose you know that.” Miranda walked from the kitchen toward the den.  
  
“Miranda…I’m…sure Andy gave you the gist of what I said during our initial conversation about your relationship. I’m sorry if my words were hurtful.”  
  
“No, actually. She didn’t give me the gist. Andrea told me exactly what you said. But to be perfectly frank, Audrey, you can’t hurt me at all. Very few people can. I’m perfectly inured to people despising me because so very many people do. Your making Andrea miserable, however, hurts me deeply. That is the only bit of power you have to touch me in any capacity at all. Your hurting her hurts me. I’m quite sure you don’t mind my speaking so bluntly, since you were willing to be so distressingly blunt with your daughter.”  
  
Audrey couldn’t stand the way Miranda pronounced her daughter’s name, couldn’t stand her supercilious tone, but she had to give the woman her due. Miranda sounded exactly as quiet, calm, perfectly in control and frightening on the phone as her daughter had suggested she’d been during her employment. And Miranda certainly knew where to thrust a piercing blade and twist it, emotionally.   
  
“I understand.”  
  
“Yes. Of course.” Miranda’s voice was velvet. “I knew you would. Andrea speaks so very highly of your entire family.”  
  
She’d reached the den, where the girls were playing an X-Box game at low volume in deference to Andy’s nap. Patricia was enjoying quality naptime as well.  
  
Audrey heard Miranda say, “Andrea?” A few seconds went by before Audrey heard her daughter’s voice answer Miranda’s, sleepily, “Huh? What, sweetheart?”  
  
“Your mother’s on the phone, love.”  
  
“Oh? Okay.”  
  
There was a muffled sound and Andy was on the line, “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”  
  
It was so lovely to hear her daughter’s voice. “Well, we heard you got bitten by a rat.”  
  
Andy laughed and then Audrey sat and closed her eyes in relief as her daughter recalled the whole incident in drugged detail, exactly as if nothing had ever happened between them.  
  
“Well, what a fiasco, huh? But it sounds like you have a good team there to take care of you.”  
  
“Oh yeah, I have Miranda and then the girls rock, too, and Patricia took a nap with me and I couldn’t be in better hands. Although my hand could be better.” Andy cackled, “Get it? Better hands? Hand better? That was a joke!”  
  
Audrey grinned, “Yes, sweetie. A very good one under the circumstances. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”  
  
“Lunch, I think, and then I get half a pain pill and an antibiotic and Miranda will probably make me rest some more but maybe we can all watch a movie later and then dinner, I guess, and then bedtime.”  
  
“When are you going home?”  
  
There was a long quizzical pause, “I am home. Oh. Wait-a-minute. You mean my apartment?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I guess tomorrow or Monday. We have to talk to the PR person. We’re in The  Post , so we’re expecting the worst now.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Long story short? Get today’s _Post._ You’ll see.”  
  
“Andy—I don’t know what to do about—“  
  
“There’s nothing to do, Mom. We’ll deal with it. It’s not like what they’re going to imply isn’t true.”  
  
“But honey, you—“  
  
“Mom.” Andy’s voice became slightly more lucid, “I think we just had a nice conversation, don’t you?”  
  
Audrey closed her eyes again, “Yes, sweetie.”  
  
“Let’s not ruin it. Please? Okay?”  
  
“You’re right. I hope you feel better and please call us and let us know how you are.”  
  
“Thanks. I will. Love you and tell Daddy I love him, too.”  
  
“You, too. And please let Miranda know how much we appreciate her taking care of you.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
They both rang off. Andy quickly fell back to sleep.  
  
Audrey ground her teeth and looked at her husband, “If you’d heard that woman’s voice, you’d know I should be put up for sainthood right about now.”  
  
Richard put his arm around her, “You did good.”  
  
“That woman, let me tell you right now, is completely infuriating. She’s—you didn’t hear her! She is…is….”  
  
“Our daughter’s lover.”  
  
Audrey’s forehead dropped to her husband’s chest, “That, too.”  
  
“That, too. That first, Audrey.”  
  
She nodded and he hugged her tightly.

* * *

As Miranda finished her stir-fry, she suddenly realized she’d referred to her daughters as Andy’s children as well. And that, she knew, was a slip of the tongue that meant something.

After lunch, Andy and Miranda escaped to the study. The young woman finally felt up to reading the _Post_ and winced as she did. There were two pictures of Miranda escorting her into the townhouse with what she guessed were supposed to be damning time-stamps.   
  
_Our readers will recognize Andy Sachs from the pictures we’ve featured over the past few weeks. She certainly seems to be a fixture in the Priestly universe. No word about why Ms. Sachs was taken to the Emergency Room last night, accompanied by the Dragon Lady herself. Or why, for that matter, the young woman so obviously spent the night in the Dragon’s lair. Was her injury the result of a domestic occurrence? After all, Priestly is famous for being rather…well, we won’t say anything else except that we’d certainly like to know what really happened. And one more question. Is this as domestic as it’s beginning to look?_  
  
Andy’s eyes were glowing with fury as she looked up from the page. Miranda smiled and said, “Welcome to my world, Andrea.”  
  
Andy spluttered, “How can you—how dare they—what kind of—“  
  
“They’re vultures. You ignore them.”   
  
“Are they implying you hurt me in some domestic dispute sort of thing?”  
  
Miranda sighed, “Exactly. Not explicitly, of course. Entirely implicitly. They want us to come out swinging because of what they reported.”  
  
“I feel like doing just that.”  
  
“Which feeds into their motives. We leave it alone.”  
  
“Is that what Alexis said?”  
  
“No—I decided I don’t have to call a 20-something PR flack to tell me what I had experience dealing with before she was born.”  
  
“But Miranda, it sounds awful.”  
  
“And you read the coverage of me during your time at _Runway_. How’d that sound?’  
  
“Awful.”  
  
“Exactly. The only part that’s different is you’re part of it. And I’m sorry for that.”  
  
Andy looked into the sad eyes of her lover, pulled her closer and kissed her. “I’m not. I’m proud that I’m yours.”  
  
“No more than I am that I’m yours, Andy. And might I suggest you check your cell phone—I’m sure some of your friends might have seen the Post.”  
  
Andy smacked her forehead, “Oh shit! Poor Doug. Poor Lily.”  
  
Miranda had heard the names before. She nodded and kissed Andy’s forehead, “Call your friends. If you’d like for them to come for a late adults-only dinner, they can. I’d like to get to know them.”  
  
She left the room and Andy looked at her cell phone. Sure enough, Doug and Lily had blown her voice-mail up the night before.

Okay. Doug first.  
  
His first statement was not hello. “Girl! What the fuck? The _Post_ scared the shit out of me!”  
  
As she explained the situation to him, slowly, he began to howl with laughter. He’d known her when she’d had stitches after falling on a broken bottle when she was twelve, and when she’d had her wisdom teeth taken out when she was 21. Pain pills had taken her out both times and she sounded just like she had both times---like she was about 10 years old. Which amused him.  
  
But didn’t amuse her, “Maybe you don’t understand, Doug. I’ve been injured.”  
  
“Yeah. And you sound like you’re taking drugs that are obviously happy drugs and you’re living the good life in Miranda Priestly’s house. I’m really sorry you’re hurt, honey, but given where you’re staying? Cry me a river.”  
  
“Will you call Lily for me?”  
  
“You want me to tell all?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Oh. Okay. But, damn! No pressure, right?”  
  
“I know. I know. I just can’t stand any more talk about Miranda. Just tell her if she can’t deal, then we can talk later.”  
  
“Who are you talking about?”  
  
“Family.”  
  
“Aw, man. They were rough about it?”  
  
“Not everybody. Dad and Sam were cool. But mom was brutal.”  
  
“Gotcha. Sorry about that. You remember how my family acted, but keep ‘em in mind, Andy. They’re okay now but it took time. Don’t think your family’s first reaction’s the last, okay?”  
  
Andy took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re probably right. I talked to Mom today and she really tried to be cool.”  
  
“See? What’d I say? That’s good. Remember, you didn’t just go gay, baby. You went to the dark side with someone most people think is on the dark side already. You doubled up and then add she’s twice as old as you are with kids and you hit a dark side triple.”  
  
“Yeah. Great. Thanks, Doug. Feeling better already.”  
  
He cleared his throat. “Okay, right. Sorry. One Lily coming up. I love you, sweetie—and that’s the truth. I don’t come out for other people to other people if I can help it.”  
  
“I know, and thanks, Dougie. Hey, wanna come for dinner at our house? Miranda invited you guys.”  
  
“Miranda Priestly? Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
“Nope. Not a bit.”  
  
“You realize you just called her house your house?”  
  
There was a long silence. “No I didn’t, but her house sorta seems like my house.”  
  
Miranda walked in on this last bit of conversation, bringing Andy a hot cup of tea, “It is our house, Andrea. Our home.” She handed her the tea and kissed her forehead.  
  
Doug’s voice went up a half-octave, “That’s her?”  
  
“Yep, in the flesh.” She looked up at Miranda adoringly, “8:30 okay, sweetheart?”  
  
“Perfect. Drink your tea, love,” Miranda said before she left the room.  
  
Andy sighed, “Doug, she’s gone now but I gotta say—that woman is smokin’ hot.”  
  
“I know. In fact, all gay men know that but I’m glad you’ve come ‘round. And you’re cute when you’re dopey, Sachs. Talk to you soon.”  
  
“8:30. I’ll call you with directions.”  
  
“Got it.”

Andy semi-dozed in Miranda’s chair until her cell buzzed. “Hello?”  
  
“Are you for real, Andy?”  
  
It was Lily. Andy slurred a bit, “Real about what?”  
  
“You’re all up in love like Doug says—with Miranda Priestly?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
There was a long pause, so Andy spoke again, “Let me explain. Yes. Completely.”  
  
“He says it started after you and Nate broke up.”  
  
“Of course it did! Way after.”  
  
“But I think even then—“  
  
Andy shook her head to clear it although it didn’t change the slur in her voice, “Look, Lily. I won’t deny that Miranda and I might have felt something for each other way back when that we didn’t understand. That’s just true. If you’ve never had feelings like that, good for you but I’m sorry ‘cause you can’t understand. And if you feel the need to judge me for it, sorry again. I love you as much as I love any friend on Earth but I’ve already told my mom to fuck off because of her feelings so don’t think I’ll put up with any bullshit. You’re in or you’re out. And I understand being ‘in’ might be freaky to you, but there it is.”  
  
There was a long pause, “Damn, Andy. You’re on drugs, right?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“So….”  
  
“So I’m telling the truth. Come to dinner with Doug at…8:30 tonight. Or not. Your decision. I want you in my life. It’s your decision whether you want me in yours or not. I’ll call him with details.”  
  
Lily paused for what seemed like a long time. “I’ll be there.”    
  
Andy smiled into the air, “Great. Can’t wait to see you and I hope I’ll be a lot more…cogent when you get here.”  
  
“Lots of fluids, Andy. That’s what it takes. Lots of fluids.”  
  
Andy smiled because Lily had always been a ‘lots of fluids’ girl.  
  
“Fluids? Like beer? Wine?”  
  
“The fuck? Water or juice, damn you!”  
  
“Gotcha. See you later.”

Andy called Miranda into the study to confirm their dinner plans when Doug rang back almost immediately, sounding considerably more anxious. “Alright, Lily told me 8:30. I need the address.”  
  
“I’ll pretend you don’t already know it,” she said, grinning as she repeated it for him. “What’s wrong, Dougie?”  
  
“Please. Maybe you met Miranda cold without knowing anything about her, but I know exactly who she is.”  
  
Andy winked at Miranda as the woman took a seat next to her, “True, but she’ll be very nice to you, I promise.”  
  
“Fine, that may be but…I mean…you know, when you…” he hesitated before sighing, “What should I wear?”  
  
She beamed, “Oh, I get it now. You’re having a Doug Anderson fashion-girl crisis, aren’t you?”  
  
“No I’m not.”  
  
“You totally are. You sound just like you did when you were going to meet Jeff’s parents.”  
  
“Who meets their gay lover’s parents every day? What would you wear to meet Miranda’s mom?”  
  
Andy looked at Miranda and paused. “Point taken.”  She chewed the inside of her cheek, “Anything from casual Friday to business casual—and there is a difference, evidently, according to La Priestly.” She grinned when Miranda swatted her on the leg. “Dress so you’re comfortable but don’t try too hard. She’ll smell it. If it takes the pressure off, and it should, remember you can’t possibly impress her. She loves me and I still only shoot for neutral to acceptable.”  
  
She heard Doug groan, “Okay. I’ll try. 8:30.” Phone call over, Andy wrapped her arms around Miranda, snuggled into her neck, saying “He’s nervous.”  
  
“Is that any surprise?“ Miranda smirked. “Honestly, Andrea, is this how you talk about me to your friends, even now?”  
  
Andy pulled back to assess blue eyes. Good. Not angry and, thank God, not hurt. A little disgruntled, maybe. She kissed Miranda’s cheek. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, did I sweetheart?”  
  
Miranda thought about it. “Be that as it may, you made me sound somewhat unapproachable.“  
  
Andy’s snorting laugh was delighted. “OhmyGod. Are you kidding? You are the single most unapproachable person I’ve ever met or even heard of—and through sheer force of personality. The only other people as unapproachable as you are have 24/7 bodyguards or Secret Service.”  
  
Miranda didn’t respond but pursed her lips as she picked at her sweater. Andy watched her for a few moments, then touched her face. Miranda turned toward her and Andy kissed her tenderly on her lips. “That said, thank you for inviting my friends to dinner, Miranda. I’m sure they’ll love you so there’s nothing to be nervous about. No worries, okay?”  
  
The reply was cool, “I don’t believe I said that I was nervous.”  
  
Andy voiced entire agreement, “Oh, I know you didn’t, sweetie. I’m telling you _I’m_ not nervous or worried.”  
  
Miranda nodded curtly as if she’d settled a problem herself, “Very good, Andrea. I’m sure there’s no reason to be.” She pecked Andy on the cheek before standing, “Do your friends eat red meat?”  
  
“Yep. Just like me. Medium rare and with both hands.”  
  
“Oh dear. Should I order double portions for all three of you?”  
  
“No, smart-ass. One each will be fine.”  
  
“Very well. I’ll go take care of that. Will you go find out what the girls are up to? They’re strangely quiet, and that usually means something’s going on.”  
  
“Maybe they’re ordering Birckenstocks for themselves online.” She lifted her feet to eye her shoes, “You do know these shoes are a gateway drug to casual fashion you could never possibly suffer quietly, don’t you?”  
  
Miranda only lifted her eyebrows.  
  
“Yes. Of course, Miranda. I’ll check on the girls,” she said in her best second assistant voice.  
  
“Stop that. Please call your friends again. Remind them it’s best to ignore the press when they arrive and that it’s the height of idiocy to say ‘No comment’ when you mean you have nothing to say.”  
  
“Gotcha.”

* * *

The girls were in Cassidy’s room printing out some pictures from the zoo.  Andy looked at their prints, then sat and watched as they played her a slideshow of pictures of their day.   
  
Cassidy remarked, after many had gone by, “You can tell who took what because Caroline’s way better at photography than I am.”   
  
Andy had, indeed, seen that some pictures were taken by a better photographer but hastened to say, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think they’re all pretty—“  
  
“Don’t be lame, Andy,” Cassidy interrupted. “You can see it. Anybody can. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.” She shrugged, “I’m better at math than she is. It all evens out.”  
  
Blushing slightly, Andy nodded. “You’re right. That was kind of lame of me. I’m sorry.”  
  
Caroline fixed her with a piercing look “You’re older than we are and you’re our mother’s girlfriend but that doesn’t mean you get to do all that grown-up crap with us. We’re kids but we can still tell when you’re lying to make us feel better. We’re not stupid.”  
  
Andy slumped a little in her chair. “I know that. I know you’re not stupid and you can call me on it if I do it again, okay? That’s a deal. And, Cassidy, you’re not that bad. My mom can’t take pictures at all. She used to take pictures of our dog Buddy and he’d be right there in front of her, but she’d never get his head in the picture, or maybe half his head or just his butt. At least you get the whole animal in the frame so yours are pretty good, considering.”  
  
Cassidy raised her eyebrows, looking remarkably like her mother, “So, I’m not great but I don’t entirely suck? Thank you, Andy.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Cassidy.” She stood and stretched, “If you think about it, everybody has special talents but with most stuff in life you have to realize you’re not great but you don’t entirely suck. All you can do is try your best. See you guys in a bit.”  
  
They said their good-byes and, once Andy had left the room, Caroline felt her sister’s gaze as she clicked through the pictures. She didn’t turn but replied, “Yeah. I know. She’s okay, I guess.” 

* * *

When Andy answered the door at 8:30, she hurried her friends into the house and out of the view of photographers. She kissed them both, held up her bandaged hand and said, “Doug, help me with your coats. It’s this closet on the left.” Doug looked pale and nervous but grateful to do something. As they closed the closet door, they heard Miranda walking toward them. She was on the phone but smiled genuinely at their guests, covered the phone with one hand and said, “Excuse me, I’ll be right off.” Andy smiled because Miranda had changed yet again and into black slacks and a vibrant blue cashmere sweater, accentuating her eyes and cut to show a tasteful, but undeniable, bit of cleavage. The woman looked like a million bucks. A relatively casual million, Andy granted, but still a million.  
  
Two beats later, she watched and heard a glacier move over her lover’s face and voice. “No, Alexis. No. That’s completely ludicrous but something tells me you’re not trying to be funny. A press conference. To what end? Wait. Let me guess. So that you can stand at my side, smile and enjoy a bit of vicarious PR for your firm under the guise of providing that service to me? I think not. I’m keeping guests waiting, Alexis. Writing a simple press release is within the scope of your expertise, isn’t it? Good. Write one announcing your firm is no longer handling my public relations as of this minute. That’s all.”  
  
As she punched her phone off, warmth again suffused her face, as Andy had known it would. Doug and Lily looked a bit shell-shocked, so Miranda smiled again, “Forgive me. A bit of business. Andrea and I are both so glad you could come.” She offered her hand to Doug, “Miranda Priestly.”  
  
He shook her hand warily, not knowing how firmly one should grip a precious gay icon, “Doug Anderson, Ms. Priestly.”  
  
“No no. Miranda. I’m Miranda to everyone, except the press. And I’m sure you know the many things they call me.” She turned, “And you’re Lily Gardner. A pleasure to meet you.” Lily smiled and shook hands.  
  
“Follow me, please. Andrea would like to relax with you in our family room while I finish overseeing the girls’ dinner.” Miranda led the way as Andy, Doug and Lily followed. Andy stifled a laugh as Doug looked from Miranda to her and bit his knuckle dramatically.  
  
When they entered the family room, Miranda said, “Please make yourselves comfortable. We’ll eat in about forty-five minutes.” She put a hand on Andy’s back, “Darling, I put some wine for them and some sparkling cider for you in the fridge. Can you serve it?”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
Miranda pecked her lightly on the lips and left the room, leaving the three friends staring at each other. Doug stated the glaringly obvious first, in a half-whisper, “Guys? That was Miranda Priestly and we’re in her _house_. She is So. Fucking. Hot.”  
  
Andy smiled, “You think you know but you have no idea, Doug. The surface of the sun.”   
  
Lily exhaled a stunned, laughing breath, “All I can say is I’m really sorry, Andy, for grabbing your phone and joking around that night back when you worked at _Runway_. If I’d known _that_ was going to answer, I’d have known better.” Off her friend’s look, Lily corrected herself, “I don’t mean her, your girlfriend. I meant the person who was just talking on the phone. Holy shit.”  
  
Andy grimaced. “Exactly. The woman on the phone was the one I worked for 14 hours a day. You guys up for some wine? You’ll have to help me.”  
  
“Yeah, how’s your hand, honey?”  
  
“Sore, Dougie, but I found out a half of this Percocet’s about all I need. The doctor gave me the big daddy one. With half, it hurts a little more but now I’m a functioning person.”  
  
They poured their wine and sparkling cider and talked about the obvious for a few minutes.  
  
“I have no idea what’s going to happen. The pictures are in the _Post_ today. Miranda says it’ll be worse tomorrow and possibly Monday but it should blow over.”  
  
Lily motioned with her wineglass, “But if you keep staying nights over here and go out to dinner and lunch and all and the press sees you, how’s that going to blow over?”  
  
“I think we’re just going to live our lives and let people think what they want.”  
  
“That works for lots of gay people,” Doug agreed, “it’s totally obvious but you never dignify their questions with a response.”  
  
Andy nodded, “At least for now, anyway. Miranda’s still going through a divorce. This can’t change anything legally in that respect but the girls are still adjusting to it. We’re not ashamed of our relationship but we just want to ease people into it.”  
  
After thirty minutes of catching up, Doug repaired to the restroom and Lily jumped up and leapt on the couch, sitting almost on top of Andy, whispering, “The first chance we get, we’re going to lunch and you’re telling me everything.”  
  
Andy whispered back, “Everything about what?”  
  
Lily smacked Andy’s good arm, “First the hook-up—how you two really got together. Doug gave me the abbreviated honorary girl version but I want the real girl version. And then the sex! And don’t think blushing’s getting you out of it. I want all the details.”  
  
Andy did blush, “I can’t tell you that. It’s personal.”  
  
“Give me a break, sweetheart. What I don’t know about Nate in bed I’d have to sleep with him to find out.”  
  
Andy smirked, “Fair enough. But that was Nate.”  Her face and voice softened, “This is Miranda and what we do is ours and it’s really special.”  
  
“God give me strength,” Lily said, shaking her head. “It’s just like you, Andy Sachs, to clam up when you’ve finally done something I haven’t. How about this? We won’t go into the specifics of Miranda. We’ll talk in generalities.”  
  
Andy gave it a few moments of thought, “Okay. That’ll work. I really love eating pussy.”  
  
Lily half-spat and half-choked on her mouthful of wine. Andy pounded her back as Lily snorted with laughter. “I can not believe you just said that.”  
  
“What? You asked. That was general.”  
  
“Uh…yeah. General in a really specific way.”  
  
Doug reappeared, noted the change in seating and saw the expressions on his friends’ faces, “Aw man, what’d I miss?”  
  
Lily eyed Andy, “We were just talking about dinner tonight.”  
  
“Yep,” Andy confirmed, “and we have our choice of desserts. I know what I’m having.  I can hardly wait.”  
  
“Stop it, Andy.”  
  
Doug looked between them and pouted, “You guys leave me out of all the good stuff.”  
  
Lily shook her head. “Knowing you, Doug, believe it or not--this you’d take a pass on.”

* * *

As Miranda sipped a glass of wine and spent the rest of her daughters’ dinnertime with them, she felt her anxiety level rising, an emotional fact she had very little experience calling what it was. Anxiety was what people felt when they did not know what to do. Making decisions and the necessity of action were immutable facts and feelings were so often a luxury. But what was it that needed to be done? She was uncertain. She’d had a lovely day with her children and Andrea and had even had the pleasure of waking with the woman and her family in the same house.  
   
She tapped the table gently with one hand as she talked to the girls, realizing she’d been unaccountably discouraged by how very young Doug and Lily seemed to her, a youth that was exactly that of her lover’s. They seemed nice enough, if not a little over-awed, which she quickly dismissed as typical of people who met her for the first time and the result of an image she’d cultivated for decades. Over-awed, yes. But probably quite predisposed to dislike her, in point of fact.  
  
She experienced a flash of anger and defensiveness at this, that they would judge her, that they must certainly have judged her in the past. Both emotions were there but her psyche was such that she skillfully blocked them from her conscious radar, leaving only the feeling that something was not quite right about the evening and that she must stay on guard. She pursed her lips and came back to herself only when Cassidy asked if something was wrong.  
  
“No darling,” she said, smiling not very nicely, “What could be wrong?”

* * *

Andy wanted to expect the best but she’d been nervous, an anxiety justified by the look in Miranda’s eyes as she joined them and by nearly the first thing that came out her lover’s mouth as they seated themselves. “I have to thank you again for coming. Especially since I know from Andrea that my reputation certainly precedes me with you both.”  
  
Andy knew the tone in that voice and jumped in, “But that’s all in the past. I’m not your assistant anymore.”  
  
Miranda nodded, “Of course. And of course you’ve told me all about it but I’d like to hear yet again from your friends how very unhappy I made you under my employ. It would be—oh, what do they call it? A report from the people on the ground?”  
  
Everyone could hear this wasn’t a question. It was a command.  
  
The mood in the room chilled appreciably and Doug and Lily, immediately deeply uncomfortable, looked to Andy for further orders. She looked at Miranda, saw there was no way out but forward, rolled her eyes and said, “Go ahead. Tell her.”  
  
Lily, looking at Andy with complete understanding, knew there was no way out, either, and that there was no way in hell Doug was going to say something. She glanced at Miranda, “Honestly?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
The young woman took a sip of wine before saying, “Andy was a complete nervous wreck the entire time she worked for you. It got so bad it was damned near impossible to hang out with her because only half of her attention was on the person in front of her. The other half was on _Runway_ and pretty soon she looked and sounded like someone who could work at _Runway_. And this was Andy—someone who didn’t care about stuff like that. She almost abandoned her friends and she lost her boyfriend. And you know what the hardest thing was? It’d be one thing if she upended her life for something that made her happy but she never looked anything but frantic and miserable. I don’t know what it looked like from your end, but on our end it looked pretty crazy. _Runway_ had her on a chain.”   
  
Miranda raised an eyebrow, “Not a chain. A leash, actually. And a very pretty one.”  
  
“Miranda.” Andy put a soft hand on Miranda’s arm, “Be nice.”  
   
Miranda took Andy’s hand, lifted and kissed it. “I will. I just wanted to clear the air, darling.”  
  
She turned to Doug and Lily. “I never offer justifications for my professional life. But because you’re Andrea’s best friends and because I wish to be on good terms with you, I’ll make an exception. What you probably never considered when you witnessed Andrea’s innumerable stress-filled activities, was that you were seeing only the minutiae of my duties and responsibilities. The reason her job seemed so difficult was because my job was and is exponentially more difficult. You say Andrea’s workload, so laughably and comparatively light, made her frantic and miserable? Perhaps so. I’ll have to take your word on that. But it’s difficult for me to feel sympathy for an assistant who simply delivers my coffee and runs errands when I carry the flagship of Elias Clarke on my back every day of my life and never flinch. Is it asking too much for my coffee to be perfect? I think not.”  
  
She took an unusually large sip of wine before continuing, “To answer the question I’m sure you’ve asked yourselves? No. My assistants have no sympathy for the devil and I don’t feel one bit of sympathy for them. They don’t thank me and I don’t thank them. It’s a job. They must be perfect at their jobs because I must be perfect. Every day of my life. And I am. If they’re not, or cannot be, they leave. That’s quite easily done. Ask Andrea.”   
  
Watching Miranda during this little diatribe, Andy quite nimbly moved through all the reasons that could be causing it. Miranda had said it herself—she didn’t justify herself to anyone. That Miranda felt she should meant she must feel deeply unsure of herself, which would make her angry and defensive, and she probably didn’t even know it. But she was still making an effort—justifying her behavior, trying to explain herself to people she didn’t really know, which told Andy, again, how much the woman loved her.  
  
She was being a totally scary bitch, which was so Miranda. Andy understood. She patted Miranda’s arm firmly and looked into her eyes, “Enough. That’s enough, love. You don’t regret anything about our professional relationship and I don’t either. It brought us together, darling. You were absolutely awful and I would do it all again ten thousand times to be here with you tonight.”  
  
Miranda blinked and looked into Andy’s eyes, which were beautiful and soft. Entirely accepting. Completely loving. Miranda felt, looking into them, as if some malign enchantment had suddenly been lifted. Andy loved her. What had she been thinking?  
  
She heard Andy saying, “Doug, Lily? I really appreciate the fact that Miranda wanted to get this subject off the table and behind us but that’s all. Forever. That’ll have to be enough about the past for you guys. I don’t ever want to talk about it again. Okay?”  
  
They’d nodded and after living through the next few frozen minutes of discomfort, Andy was delighted. Her sweetheart became, again, not the editor of _Runway_ , but the intelligent, witty, warm and delightful woman she’d fallen in love with. Miranda was perfectly cordial, asking polite questions about very neutral subjects but she truly listened with interest to their answers. She also became so relaxed, open and unguarded that Andy soon looked nearly boneless with relief. Seeing this, Lily and Doug began to relax, as well, looking past Miranda’s image, her age and wealth enough to talk to her as a peer.  
  
Or almost as a peer, because Miranda was Miranda, after all.  
  
Doug talked about the job he hated with his usual self-deprecation and told a few funny stories about his complete lack of any hope for promotion and the sheer banality of his daily work life. As he spoke, Miranda almost shuddered.  
  
This had always been her fear, even before she left her family home—that her life would be as uninspired, uneventful and as unchanging as her parents’ had been. She snapped to attention, “That’s ridiculous, Douglas. You have to get out of there, although far be it for me to say a job sounds dreadful when I undoubtedly have many employees who feel the same way. Send me your resume and I’ll keep my ears open.”  
   
Doug was instantly terribly flustered. “Oh. I didn’t mean to…I was just…you’re too kind, Miranda. You don’t have to do that.”   
  
“Nonsense. Anyone will tell you I’m rarely kind. It’s scarcely any effort on my part at all. One of the benefits of becoming who and what I am is my disproportionate amount of influence. What would take a great deal of trouble for others only needs a word from me.”  
  
“I understand that, Miranda.” Doug said, looking at her thoughtfully, “But you just met me. Why go to even that amount of…”  
  
Miranda waved her hand and, without acknowledging she was talking about anything but business, said, “It’s simplicity itself. Andrea treasures your friendship. It would make her happy. So, it’s done.”  
  
“I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“I believe thank you is the usual.”  
  
“Thank you—thank you very much.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
As their conversation moved forward and Lily talked of her gallery work, Andy watched Miranda run her index finger over the rim of her glass, nodding politely and listening with no expression at all. But Andy knew the look in Miranda’s eyes and, as often happened, she felt a throbbing between her legs. It wasn’t a sexual look at all but it was a look that meant her lover’s Miranda-volume was about to go up a couple of notches. Which was probably sexy to just about only her.  
  
“Very interesting, Lily. Let me see if I have this straight. Your employer and gallery owner David Sylvestri has set you free to find and select four or five unknown artists for his next show.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I can see why you’d be excited. He must have tremendous faith in your ability to give you that sort of responsibility.”  
  
Lily smiled, agreeing, “I think it’s just a natural extension of my job. He’s been bringing in portfolios and I’ve been picking the pieces we feature.”   
  
“Again, very interesting. And the show is three months from now?”  
  
“Yes, but the day’s to be decided.”  
  
“When the date’s firm, call Emily to schedule my appearance. I’ll only come if you tell David very specifically that while having dinner with me, you told me that you’d be picking artists for the show and that I very much wanted to see the collection you’d chosen on opening night.”  
  
Lily was stunned and unsure, “Really? Do you know Dave?”  
  
Miranda tilted her head one fraction of an inch. “David exists. That I know. That, and he’ll be very…happy to have me come. In fact, if someone gave you a dollar for every time he’ll drop my name until I walk in the door, you might be able to retire.”  
  
“But I’d be dropping your name, Miranda.”  
  
“You had dinner with me, in my home no less, and I asked you to extend an expression of my interest in your show. There’s a difference, believe me, although David doesn’t seem to realize this. He has a certain reputation in my professional and social milieu.”  
  
Lily winced, but didn’t look surprised. “Is it really bad? So bad I’m shooting myself in the foot with him on my resume?”    
  
“No. His reputation is solid with the people who can afford to buy from him. However, with the people who truly matter, people….like me, his reputation is not what one would wish. His taste is,” Miranda’s lips pursed a bit as she continued, “a bit like Andrea’s taste in clothing.”  
  
“Hey!” Andy said, smacking Miranda’s shoulder gently.  
  
Miranda smiled and the affection in her eyes took the sting off what followed, “I only mean that you have an acquired sense of fashion, darling, and an adequate one. Adequate but not very good or exceptional. And you certainly don’t have an innate taste, a thing that you’re born with and that simply can’t be taught. An innate taste is what you need to be a person asking people of taste to spend money on an aesthetic opinion. Surely you know this. Should someone spend millions of dollars, Andrea, solely on what you choose to find attractive to wear?”  
  
Lily and Doug laughed as Andy half-scowled, half-laughed. “Okay. Maybe not.”  
  
“Just so. Tell me, Lily, are you any good?”  
  
The question was abrupt, quiet and serious. The laughter stopped as Miranda continued, “My time is worth quite a lot. Why should I care what you choose for me to look at?”  
  
Lily looked from Miranda to Andy and back.  
  
Miranda noticed this. “It’s not a trick question, Lily. It’s a simple one. Are you any good? Surely you must know.”  
  
Andy looked as surprised as she was, so Lily answered, “Yes, I think I am and—“  
  
Miranda shook a finger “No no. You _think_ you’re good? Do you imagine I’m the arbiter of fashion opinion for the entire world simply because I _think_ I’m good?”  
  
Lily was ruffled but looked into Miranda’s eyes, which were, to her anyway, completely unreadable, but not necessarily unkind. She knew Andy would step in if Miranda was doing something really mean to her so it must mean that….  
  
Oh.  
  
“I’m good. I know what I’m doing, Miranda.”   
  
Miranda nodded, slightly. “And so you must. David knows you have something he doesn’t if he’s letting you pick his artists. It just doesn’t happen, otherwise. To get back to your original question, you can’t shoot yourself in the foot with his name now. As I’m sure you know, I’m Kevlar in New York. Anywhere, actually, where visual art matters.”  
  
“Yes, but I don’t want to take advantage of—“  
  
“Knowing someone who’s very good to know?” Miranda sipped her wine. “You should. If you don’t have confidence in your own opinion, why should I? Or anyone else? Take every possible advantage presented to you, Lily. That’s how life works, unfortunately enough.”  
  
Lily looked uncertain. Miranda repeated, “It’s how life works.”  
  
The young woman blinked and nodded. “But I wish it weren’t like that.”  
  
“Don’t we all?” Miranda smiled, a bit grimly, “Before you and Douglas take the time to ask yourselves? No. I’m not waving my magic wand because I cherish the hope that you’ll both like me. I’m waving it because Andrea’s happiness is deeply tied to yours. I am the golden ticket but only because her happiness is mine and now yours is as well. While it’s terribly _déclassé_ to be so overt about these things, it’s even more tiresome to pretend to be less than what I am.” She patted Andy’s hand, “Dessert, darling?”

* * *

Their dessert and coffee were delicious and Andy felt ridiculously happy watching her friends and Miranda speaking normally, almost playfully—like real friends. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first purely social situation she and Miranda had shared with others. It had been dicey for a few minutes but, as she watched her lover talking with her friends, she felt she was seeing her in another way. This softness, that Andy had never seen extended to anyone except the children, John and her, was mesmerizing. The light hitting Miranda’s beautiful skin and hair…her voice, the relaxation in her every movement. When Andy added to this list the swell of Miranda’s breasts, she knew the night had been wonderful but it was time for her friends to leave. As they said goodnight, Miranda was perfectly lovely and they both watched to make sure Lily and Doug escaped through the photographers, braving the night’s cold and jumping into the car service they’d called for them.  
  
As the lights from the photographers disappeared and the usual New York night lights suffused the car, Lily said, “Okay. Paparazzi. For us. That was weird.”  
  
Doug nodded, looking suspiciously between Lily and the driver, “Yeah, it was.”  
  
Lily noticed his anxiety and gave him a tight-lipped smile, knowing he was probably right. Why should they necessarily trust any driver called to Miranda’s house? “New regime, Dougie.”  
  
“Yep. New regime.”  
  
She smirked and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I know we can’t talk about it here but, seriously. Did our girl score or what?”  
  
Doug laughed and whispered, “I know, right? Andy Sachs for the win!”

* * *

  
When she’d seen her friends get into the car, Andy turned and pushed Miranda against the door, losing no time nibbling her neck, “That was okay, wasn’t it? You liked them, didn’t you?”  
  
Miranda pulled Andy to her tightly, saying. “It was fine. I did like them but do you want to talk about the evening or…”  
  
Miranda’s statement was abbreviated by the feeling of Andy’s hands cupping her breasts as she whispered, “You and this damned sweater—you’ve been killing me all night.”  
  
Decision made, Miranda thought. “Bedroom. Now. Not here. The girls.”  
  
They made their way quickly to their room and Miranda locked the door as Andy doffed her clothes with astonishing speed. “Seriously Miranda, you’re killing me. This medicine’s making my skin all—“  
  
She groaned as Miranda pulled her naked body into a ferocious kiss and released her just as suddenly. “The medicine’s making your skin what?”  
  
Andy plunged into bed and watched as Miranda took off her clothes. “Making me so hot—so thirsty for you. My skin feels so sensitive and I need you…”  
  
“Need me where?” A newly naked Miranda asked, as she looked Andy over from the side of the bed, delighted to see that even the weight of her gaze was enough to make the younger woman shiver.   
  
“Just you, Miranda. Your mouth, your body, sweetheart.”  
  
Miranda joined Andy and pressed herself lengthwise over her, smiling as Andy hissed her appreciation, “Baby, you’re so…” Andy whispered in her ear, “You’re everything, you know. Everything to me.”  
  
Miranda smiled, then kissed her. She loved every possible permutation of kissing Andrea but this was one her favorites. Andy was willing and open for her, her mouth so soft, drawing her in, encouraging her to take what she would. Andy moaned into her mouth as she softly rubbed her body over her and she felt her lover gently scratching and clutching at her back with her good hand.  
  
When they finally broke their long kiss, Andy said, “No more foreplay…just your fingers and your mouth. Right now.”

* * *

Their lovemaking was over almost embarrassingly quickly for both of them, for whatever reason. Andy attributed it to the medicine’s effect and the fact that Miranda, in embracing her friends, had more deeply embraced her. Miranda attributed it to the fact that she’d run a gauntlet and had succeeded. Andrea’s friends were happy; Andrea seemed to be happy. They both added these separate interpretations to the numerous, small secrets about intimacy even lifelong lovers keep from each other.  
  
As they recovered, Miranda, with Andy’s face nestling into her neck, ran her fingers through dark hair and said, quietly, “Darling?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“This is the first time we’ve ever made love with the girls in the house and they’re still young enough to sometimes be frightened at night. We both should put on pajamas and I’ll unlock the door in case one of them needs me. And I really need to wash my face and hands. I adore smelling like us after our love but…”  
  
Andy chimed in immediately, “Oh yeah. That makes total sense. But I should wash up, too. You guys might need me, too, don’tcha think?”  
  
Miranda smiled up at the ceiling, grateful to love someone who really wanted to be needed rather than pretending to or resenting it, before agreeing, “I’m sure we will, Andrea. Always. That sounds like a very good idea.”

* * *

Caroline showed up outside her mother’s bedroom door a few hours later, almost as if her mother’s words had conjured her. Caroline had had nightmares forever and her mom had always told her, if the door wasn’t locked (which was private, adult time), she could come in without knocking. She’d pretty much ignored this when Stephen was around, after trying two times to talk to her mom very unsuccessfully. Stephen had tried to weigh in and he really didn’t get it, wasn’t any help and Caroline had decided it was better just to crawl into bed with Cassidy. Cass didn’t care anyway and just hugged her and never made a big deal out of it. And her mom’s bedroom, with Stephen in it, had been all wrong anyway, because her mom didn’t have her nightlight on.  
  
This was something she’d never, ever, ever tell anyone, no matter how mad she was at her mom—that Miranda Priestly could only really sleep with a nightlight. Even she and Cassidy weren’t afraid of the dark. The fact that their mom was afraid, although she’d never say it like that, seemed special to her, information for the family and no one else. Caroline knew part of the reason her mom was a super-grinch with Stephen around was because she couldn’t sleep. Her mom didn’t sleep well anyway and Stephen had made it worse because, she and Cassidy guessed, her mom didn’t feel good enough about him to let him know about the nightlight.  
  
Caroline tested, then opened the door and was relieved to see an amber glow. Evidently, Andy had passed the nightlight test.  
  
As she walked toward the bed, she saw her mother wrapped around Andy, her face buried into the younger woman’s hair. Caroline looked at them for a few moments knowing that she’d wanted, expected, the sight of her mom sleeping with another woman to seem weird or gross to her. But somehow it didn’t. Her mom’s white hair, against Andy’s dark hair, was actually really pretty. Even asleep, they looked happy and right together.  
  
Weirdly enough, although her Mom was a fantastically light sleeper, Andy woke up first, without Caroline’s saying a word. And more weirdly still, whispered, “Caroline? That you, honey? What’s up?” That was nice. Andy always knew she was Caroline, not Cassidy. Unlike everyone else except Mom and Dad and Maggie.  
  
“Do bats eat pickles, Andy?” she whispered.  
  
Andy blinked, “Pickles?”  
  
“Yeah, I had a bad dream.”  
  
“Okay. Bats and pickles?  Really? Wow. It might have been a bad dream but it sounds sort of cool, too.”  
  
Miranda didn’t even open her eyes before saying, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Andrea. Am I hearing my Caroline talking about bats eating pickles?”  
  
Andy reached back and patted Miranda gently on the hip, “Yes, General Priestly. Privates Rat Patrol Sachs and Priestly are discussing the bat and pickle situation.”  
  
Miranda shook herself awake and looked over Andy’s shoulder, “You had a bad dream, darling?”  
  
Caroline nodded, “A bat was sitting on our breakfast table eating those baby kosher dills we have in the fridge and he was saying mean things to me.”  
  
Andy was delighted, “Car, how was he eating them? You know, like with a little fork or with his hand—or what-do-you-call-it—his paw?”  
  
The girl was a little sideswiped by Andy’s attitude but she answered, “With his hand.”  
  
“Wow, that’s weird. How big was he?”  
  
“Just a little bigger than the pickle jar.”  
  
“Really?” Andy propped her head up on her good hand, “How do you think he got the pickles from the fridge to the table? The pickle jar’s probably heavier than him.”  
  
Caroline frowned, thinking, and Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes, as Andy continued, “Isn’t that what’s weird about dreams, Car? Logic doesn’t apply all that much, huh?”  
  
Caroline grinned. At last, someone who talked sense about dreams.  
  
“What did he say that was mean?”  
  
“He said when he finished the pickles, he would eat me and Cassidy.”  
  
“He said that?!”  
  
Caroline nodded. Andy said, “Close your ears, General Priestly. That little pickle-eating bat bastard said that to you, Caroline?”  
  
The girl smiled and nodded again, a bit thrilled to acknowledge the bad word with her mom in the same room.  
  
“That’s insane, Car. He was just talking smack. He was the size of the pickle jar so he could just barely eat those pickles, right? “  
  
Caroline nodded again.  
  
“Right—so it’d be about like me eating an elephant for lunch. Ridiculous. Don’t listen to tiny pickle-eating bats, Caroline. Beside that, he might say that sort of stuff to me and your sister and you, but he’d never say that to your mom.  Because she’d do that thing she does with her eyebrow, you know what I mean?”  
  
Caroline looked from Andy to her mom and back again.  
  
Andy smiled, “She’s doing it right now, isn’t she?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Andy reached back and, again, gently swatted Miranda, “See? Your mom rules. She’ll always take care of all of us. No worries.”  
  
The girl looked again from Andy, with her bandaged hand injured in their defense, to her sweetly glaring mother and felt immensely safer, warmer. Andy was right. They would take care of things. “Okay. I’m going back to bed now. Thanks.”  
  
Andy smiled, “No, thanks for telling us about it. That was really cool. Sorry it scared you a little.”  
  
Caroline shrugged, “Not so much, I guess. Night, Andy. Night, Mom.”  
  
“Goodnight, darling,” Miranda’s voice was wistful and she sighed as her daughter left the room and felt her lover relaxing into her pillow yet again.  
  
Before Miranda could speak, Andy said, “That was so totally cool, Miranda. A talking bat eating pickles!”  
  
Miranda sighed again. Youth, she thought, smiling as she pressed her face again into Andy’s soft, beautiful hair.

* * *

The next morning Cassidy and Caroline woke before their mother, which was normal. But Andy appeared first, looking bushwhacked with sleepiness. She moved like a zombie and only slurred out the word, “Coffee.”  
  
Caroline nodded, “Brewing. Sit down. I’ll get you some juice.”  
  
Cassidy stared as Andy sat, accepting without comment her sister’s really odd offer.  
  
She didn’t think Caroline necessarily liked Andy, except she was giving the woman orange juice and offering her a sweet smile, which Andy returned.  
  
Their mother showed up a few minutes later, wearing her satin pajama bottoms and Andy’s Northwestern sweatshirt. They’d never, ever seen her in a sweatshirt.  
  
And although everyone in the room nearly choked on their milk and juice, both girls, and even Andy, knew not to blink an eye about this. Not for their lives.  
  
Cassidy looked from her sister, who suddenly seemed to like Andy, to her mom, who must really love Andy, to Andy herself, who looked sheepish and sleepy and happy and dumb. She immediately thought, _Mom’s_ so _getting married again_.

* * *

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

  
Even as the Priestly household adjusted to Miranda in a sweatshirt, across the city, Serena gathered the stack of newspapers she had regularly delivered and took it into the kitchen. It was twice its usual size. Emily had stayed the weekend and they’d hardly gotten out of bed, much less read, which was always a good plan in Serena’s estimation. They’d had bagels the morning before, but this morning Emily was cooking breakfast. That was one of the rare meals the English actually could cook correctly, she thought, smiling to herself.  
  
She was looking forward to reading the Sunday _Times’_ Literary and she knew Emily would immediately turn to the _Post’s Page Six._ That they were so different was no surprise but what had surprised her was how eager Emily was to talk about anything of an intellectual bent. Emily’s heart belonged to fashion and gossip but she was quite willing to open her mind to other things. Exploring this side of Emily was incredibly sexy.  
  
As she put the papers on the table, Emily said as she pulled some sausages out of the skillet, “While I appreciate your efforts to provide me the makings of a proper English breakfast, Serena, if you stoop to stocking the fridge with kippers or deviled kidneys as your bit of a joke about my nationality, you’ll be in trouble.”  
  
Serena smiled, “If trouble means more of what we were doing an hour ago, kippers are on their way.”  
  
Emily scowled as Serena kissed her nose. “Our papers are here, English. Let’s catch up.”  
  
They served themselves and began to read. This was one of the many things Serena also loved about Emily—they were equally happy to ignore each other and read while eating.  
  
At least Emily was until she said, “Oh. My. God.”  
  
Because of the theatricality of the voice, Serena knew no real tragedy was at hand. She looked up and peered at Emily over what the Englishwoman called her ‘fuck me’ glasses. “What’s that, Emily? The Lindbergh baby’s been kidnapped?”  
  
Emily flapped the paper like a sail and slapped it down so that Serena could see, “Look at this!”  
  
Serena saw a picture of Miranda and Andy climbing the short set of stairs toward Miranda’s townhouse, Andy’s index finger wrapped in some sort of cast. She read the accompanying copy and smirked as she asked, “My God, English. I knew Miranda was demanding but what could she possibly ask of Andy as a lover to put her finger in a cast?”  
  
Emily’s mouth dropped open before she replied, “It’s so obvious you never, ever said that.”  
  
Off Serena’s expression, Emily flapped the paper again, “Do you not understand how many phone calls I’ll field tomorrow asking about the nature of their relationship?”  
  
Serena took a sip of coffee, then said, “I do. But they’re in love. What else needs to be said?”  
  
“Fine. Right. But they’re not going to admit that—I know Miranda.”  
  
Serena conceded. “That you do. Let’s look at today’s paper.”  
  
They looked at it and Emily groaned. Pictures of Miranda and the children and pictures of two of Andy’s friends. No Andy. Which made everything seem faintly ominous given the smart-assed commentary from the _Post_.  
  
Emily violently tore into her sausage and chewed as she spoke, “When I get my hands on that girl, I swear—”  
  
“I’m sure there’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”  
  
Emily laughed ruefully while still chewing her sausage with great vigor, much to Serena’s amusement, “That’s exactly where you’re wrong. The explanation will be ridiculous, I promise you. Remember—I know these women. Andy will have fed her hand into the garbage disposal or injured it giving Patricia a pill. It’s bound to be something unheard of—she’s a walking Keystone Cops episode around Miranda.”  
  
“Then we’ll have something amusing to look forward to, won’t we?”  
  
Emily sniffed primly and Serena smiled, wondering if Emily knew how very many of her mannerisms were Miranda’s. Almost assuredly not. Emily was a walking definition of blind hero worship. She took a sip of her coffee and patted Emily’s hand.

* * *

  
Andy hadn’t gone home on Sunday, because she hadn’t really wanted to. She’d wanted to be with Miranda and the girls and, as she’d known there would be without even asking, clothes were delivered to the townhouse for her Monday return to work. Really fuck-gorgeous power clothes, she noted wryly. Of course they were. As she dressed, after Miranda had re-bandaged her hand, she asked, “Any advice, chief?”  
  
“Yes. Keep your chin up. Don’t answer questions unless you truly want to. The answers are ours and we don’t have to share.”  
  
She kissed Andy’s cheek. “That being said, you can say whatever you want. I’m proud of you and of us. I’m going to take my time. But you are your own woman and I respect that.”  
  
“I’m your woman and you know it. I’d like to take my time, too.”  
  
Thirty minutes later, just before Andy left the house, she got more advice from the Priestly girls, which they had to have learned from Miranda because it sounded just like her.  
  
Cassidy said, as she handed Andy her coat, “Never dignify their questions with a response, Andy.”  
  
Caroline said, “Remember, you’re not taking pictures of _them_. They’re taking pictures of _you._ You’re important. They’re not.”  
  
They hugged her and she kissed them both on the forehead, which they didn’t seem to just tolerate. They seemed pleased. “Thanks guys. Out into the fray, as your mom would say.”

* * *

 

It was surreal, actually, to have paparazzi outside waiting—for her. Andy plowed through them and leapt into the car Roy was holding open for her, his face a blank mask. Thank God for Roy.   
  
When he’d re-entered the car and because they were, from their old _Runway_ days, friends beyond the need for formality or pretense, he said, “Fucking jackals.”  
  
Andy laughed. “I know, right? How does Miranda put up with it?”  
  
Roy looked at her through the rear-view mirror, “She ignores them. You should, too.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “You look happy, Andy.”  
  
Andy looked into Roy’s lovely blue eyes, reflected in the mirror, and saw he was saying what she thought he was. And she answered in kind, “I’m very, very happy, Roy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”  
  
He nodded, “Then fuck ‘em, Andy. Fuck ‘em. They’ll say what they will and you’ll still be you and Miranda will be Miranda and the girls will be the girls. Magdalena will be Maggie.  And…I’ll be me. We’ll all get through it.”  
  
Andy reached forward and put her hand on Roy’s shoulder, “Thank you. And, yes, Roy, you’re definitely part of her family. I know she never tells you that but totally thinks it and I’m squealing on her.”  
  
Roy smiled and said, “I didn’t hear a thing.”

* * *

When she finally walked into her office, Andy was not one bit surprised by the ‘all eyes on her-ness’ of her coworkers. She waved her splinted finger and announced, “Yep, I’m alive. It was just a dumb accident and nope—not talking about it.”   
  
Mike had evidently been waiting for her because he barreled out of his office and said, “Sachs? Get in here and close the door.”  
  
She followed him with a hammering heart, closed the door and took a seat. When she faced him, she instantly saw Mike wasn’t angry. He was concerned.  
  
He looked pointedly between her hand and at the closed door and said, “Entirely off the record. Spill it, Sachs. If something’s wrong or…if someone’s hurting you and believe me I don’t give a rat’s ass who it is, let me know and I’ll help you take care of it.”  
  
Andy looked into her editor’s kind eyes. Just like Sam—a sweet man ready to kick ass on her behalf at the drop of a hat. She smiled and laughed, “Well, funny you should mention a rat, Mike. And seriously, off the record?”  
  
“Completely.”  
  
Minutes later, he was still laughing at the rat story when she said, “Still off the record?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“It’s true, just so you know. I’m romantically involved with Miranda and it’s serious. So it’s probably only likely to get worse before it gets better.”  
  
He whistled, then said, “Jesus Christ, Sachs. That’s impressive in a way you could file a sexual harassment suit against me if I even tried to explain. What am I going to do with you?”  
  
“I know—I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry. But don’t kid yourself. It’s going to be harder for you to do your job until this blows over, you know. You’re running down stories but you’re going to be a story yourself.”  
  
Andy winced but her voice was steady. “I know that. But it’s worth it, Mike. She’s worth it. Even if you fire me. I know it’s insane to keep me.”  
  
“Fire you? No. _That_ would be insanity.”  
  
Her coworkers were surprised to see a beaming Mike lead her out of his office. He patted her shoulder and said to the newsroom, “Leave Sachs alone—she’s explained everything. She’s just a dumb-ass and has the war-wound to prove it. Everything Sachs says in this room is off the record. If I see one word about her from this newsroom on record, I will hunt that person down and fire him or her.”  
  
As Mike retreated into his office, Reggie approached her and said, “Day-umm, Andy. You have a way with the editors, don’tcha?”  
  
Andy knew that question was a double entendre about Miranda and could feel the newsroom listening but she didn’t care. She smirked into her monitor and said, “Sure do. Some girls got it like that, Reg.”  
  
He snickered, they did a knuckle bump and returned to their jobs.

* * *

When Miranda arrived at _Runway_ , she was slightly amused that Emily didn’t quite meet her eyes. She threw her coat and bag on Emily2’s desk and turned to Emily, “I suppose you need to know that I fired Alexis over the weekend.”  
  
The look of just barely suppressed outrage on Emily’s face made Miranda closer to laughing out loud at _Runway_ than she had been in years. She said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Emily, don’t look like that. I’ll get someone else and beside that, we’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”  
  
As Miranda had intended, Emily was visibly dazzled by this expression of solidarity between them. She sat up straight and said, “Of course we have, Miranda.”  
  
“So you know exactly what to say, do you not?” To Emily’s astonishment, she heard Miranda assume an accent uncannily like her own, “Miranda Priestly never comments upon her personal life or that of her friends.”  
  
Emily stared but nodded, “Yes, Miranda. Irv wants to see you immediately.”  
  
“Of course he does. I’ll go right now. Don’t tell his assistant.” Her smile was wicked as she said, “He won’t expect me until midday. I expect he’ll choke on his coffee.”

* * *

Irv had almost choked as Miranda strolled into his office and calmly took a seat. The bitch.  
  
Miranda’s voice was cool, “You wanted to see me?”  
  
“Yes. What are you doing? And why is it on _Page Six_?”  
  
“You’re referencing my having a family friend stay in my home after being injured?”  
  
He stared at her perfectly composed face for several seconds. “It looks bad, Miranda.”  
  
“And exactly when or why have we ever stooped to respond to the tabloids?”  
  
“When it looks like you’re sleeping with a woman half your age. That’s when.”  
  
“If I were, _if_ I were, it would be no one’s business but mine and my family’s.”  
  
Irv was rattled and angry, “So it’s true? You’re _shtupping_ some girl half your age? A girl who used to be your assistant?”  
  
“I said no such thing. And your vulgarism is not appreciated. Whatever my relationship with Andrea is or isn’t, the world will adjust.”  
  
Irv spluttered for a moment before saying, “You’re going too far this time, Miranda. This is the sort of thing that—“  
  
Miranda interrupted him with a laugh with no mirth in it. “That what, exactly? That will enable you to force me out of my job, as you’ve wanted to do for so many years? Fine. Why don’t you try it? I can list any number of people you could put in my place. I’m sure you’ve nearly memorized their CVs, which I’m completely confident you have on your computer right now. Would you like for me to look over your list and help you replace me?”  
  
He looked at her face, so beautiful, so entirely serene and unworried. He hated her. And didn’t say a word.  
  
She noticed this, naturally. “Good choice. I _am_ _Runway_. And _Runway_ is the flagship of Elias Clarke. Anyone else you choose will be far below second best. Fire me. Feel free. I’m independently wealthy at this point. But don’t think, if you force me out, that I won’t sell every bit of EC stock I own, which you know is quite considerable. And don’t think the market won’t notice that. Leaving's one thing but selling is a vote of no confidence. I know you have a much larger number of shares of EC than I do, but after I sold, I think I could cut their value in roughly half. Don’t you?”  
  
He glared at her. “Goddamn you, Miranda.”  
  
She smiled at him. “Yes. God is curious. He damned me with you and blessed me with others.”  
  
She stared at him for a few moments and continued. “Never forget, I do this job because I love it, Irving, not because I have to. Not anymore. And always remember, although I work for you? I work harder in one week than you do in one year. We both know this.”  
  
She stood and said, “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”  
  
He swallowed, hard, and said, “Yes.”   
  
But before she could leave the office, he said, “Miranda?”  
  
She turned. His voice had softened.  
  
“Yes, Irving?”  
  
“Please minimize the damage, if you can. Please. In some quarters lately, we’ve been on a razor’s edge and you know it.”  
  
She looked at him and felt, from what seemed like out of nowhere, a flash of respect. It couldn’t be easy for a man like him to talk to her as an equal.  
  
She nodded and said, “Irving? My private life is mine. But I believe I can spin it to the benefit of Elias Clarke. I spin for a living, do I not? I create opinion; opinion does not create me.”  
  
And then she smiled at him, and he suddenly realized, after all of the hundreds of times she’d smiled at him, that this was the first genuine and almost friendly smile he’d ever gotten from her. It literally took his breath away.  
  
“Trust me, Irv.”  
  
He nodded and said very quietly, for him, “I guess I have to. You’re the only person who tells the truth around here.”  
  
“And that’s why they call me the Dragon Lady.”  
  
As she left, and as he thought about that smile, Irv wondered why he’d never understood that Miranda Priestly was actually a human being.

* * *

Two of Miranda’s blessings, Cassidy and Caroline, were incredibly bored by the hullabaloo even before lunchtime. Bored by the whispering and the staring. They’d gone through this so many times. Mom in the tabloids. They took a seat, by themselves, at an empty table at the end of their lunchroom. As always, at least they had each other and they could just ignore the snotty kids until the tide turned and someone else’s parents were the subject of scrutiny. Juan Carlo joined them, which was actually nice because everyone else was avoiding them.  
  
“Hey, J.C.”  
  
He nodded at Cassidy’s greeting, at the nickname only the twins used for him, and took a bite of his sandwich, “You have nothing but _bandoleros_ at this school. They say terrible things.”  
  
Cassidy nodded, “Yeah, they do. Sorry you had to hear it.”  
  
“No. I am sorry you have to hear it.” His brown eyes actually began to tear and he was so discomforted and concerned that Caroline hastened to assure him, “It’s okay. J.C. We’ve heard worse, tons of times. A few days and it dies down. Always does. No problem.”  
  
He stared at his sandwich as he said, very quickly, “My _mami_ says that all of these papers are so stupid. That she knows Andy and she is very good and that love is love and I should grow up to be a man who knows love when I see it.”  
  
He felt himself suddenly tremendously out of his depth and deeply embarrassed, “We...I…your _mami_ has been so good to me. I want her to be very happy,” he said, still speaking to his sandwich.  
  
Although both she and Caroline were a bit stunned by his being so blunt, Cassidy thought she should answer in kind.  
  
“Thanks, J.C.,” she said, opening her sandwich and picking out a tomato. “You’re right. Our mom and Andy are happy and that’s all we care about. These other kids are losers.”  
  
He grinned.  He’d done something right. “My _mami_ says she is going to invite you and your _mami_ and Andy to a barbecue at our house after all of this, when the weather is warmer. Do you think they will come?  
  
Caroline hesitated but Cassidy said, “Absolutely.”

* * *

Over the next few months, Miranda and Andy continued to live their lives and the tabloids’ interest in them waxed and waned, depending upon which starlet or power-couple was available or acting up and needed more attention. It hadn’t been easy. Miranda was Teflon, and effortlessly, because she’d been ignoring press about her personal life for decades. Andy’d had some tough times but she was learning to hold her chin up and to have a healthy disdain for the people who were chasing them.  
  
She’d also gained a new respect for Miranda and a different understanding of what had happened in Paris. Knowing what she now knew from first-hand experience—that people could judge you and ruthlessly stick a knife into your chest and twist it gleefully yet almost carelessly, as if it meant nothing at all as you writhed in pain—explained a part of life she hadn’t known. Miranda had known. When you were fighting for your emotional life, you fought as dirty as you had to.   
  
The girls were golden, platinum even. Having been raised to ignore, they ignored like champs. They didn’t seem to care at all.  
  
After four months Andy virtually lived with the Priestlys, although she’d kept her apartment. Andy found she’d turned a corner with the girls, in a rather abrupt way, when Cassidy approached her after she’d stayed the previous night in her own home.  
  
Andy had been working on a story on her laptop in the kitchen and Miranda had been in her study.  
  
“Andy?”  
  
Andy turned from her computer and said, “’Sup, Cass?”  
  
“Are you and Mom mad at each other or something?”  
  
“No! Of course we’re not.” She chuckled as she added, “Seriously? Can you imagine you’d even have to ask that question if we were? Why would you think so?”  
  
“You weren’t home last night.”  
  
Andy looked into Cassidy’s eyes and saw real anxiety in them. She patted the girl’s arm as she said, “Nah. It was nothing about your Mom and me. We’re fine. I was working really late on a story and I needed to crash. My apartment was just closer than here. That’s all it was.”  
  
Cassidy’s voice was firm, “Caroline and me think that’s really dumb.”  
  
“What’s dumb, honey?”  
  
“You should live here with us.”  
  
Andy blinked in astonishment and said very slowly, trying to formulate even as she spoke, a reasonable response to a question she and Miranda had skirted around, “Well, Cassidy that would be nice. But this is your house, not mine. I can’t exactly just move in.”  
  
Cassidy stared at her for a few moments before saying, “You mean Mom is so lame that she hasn’t asked you to move in, right?”  
  
Andy tilted her head and said even more slowly, “Well, I guess so. Yes. In a way. But I would never say your Mom was lame.”  
  
The girl smirked at her and said, silkily, “Of course you wouldn’t.”  
  
Andy grinned. Busted.  
  
“Okay. But if she asks you, you’ll say yes, right?”  
  
It was strange to be bullied by a child, Andy thought. “Yes. Of course. I want to live with you guys. I’d say yes.”  
  
“Good. I’ll handle it.”  
  
Andy leapt out of her chair, “Wait-a-second. Cass? I think maybe your Mom and I should—“  
  
Cassidy airily dismissed her. “Please. You guys are clueless. It’ll take me five minutes and it’ll be done.”  
  
Andy’s heart was hammering when, five minutes later, Miranda entered the kitchen and said, as she poured two glasses of wine, that it was a far more sensible thing for Andy to just move in, didn’t she think? Why pay rent when she basically lived here, anyway? As she handed one glass to Andy, Miranda played it as if it had entirely been her idea. Andy nodded and promised to get right on it. Cassidy had been right. She and Miranda were both totally clueless.

* * *

Which was how she found herself changing addresses—and addressing this fact with her parents, with whom she’d begun to have an increasingly civil discourse. A bit strained at times, but civil. They always asked after the children and Miranda, which was certainly game of them, Andy thought.  
  
When Andy told her mother she was moving into Miranda’s home, however, Audrey was quiet for a few moments before asking, “Don’t you think this is all a bit quick, dear?”  
  
That pause, and that circumspect response, told Andy her mother was really making an effort. She was concerned but trying not to push too hard. So, Andy tried, too. “I hear what you’re saying, Mom, but when we were kids, just think about living apart from Daddy and me and Sam. I don’t want that. I really need to live with them.”  
  
There was another long pause. “Andy, I ask this with love. Did you hear what you just said? Do you really consider this woman and her children your family?”  
  
A mother could always ask a question that took your breath. Andy thought about it and sighed, “Yes. Completely. They’re mine and I’m theirs.”  
  
Audrey paused again and then said, “I think we need to visit, Andy. And soon. I’ll talk to your father and Sam.”  
  
Andy gritted her teeth and said, “That’d be great,” although she was thinking Fuck. Fuck-apolous. Fuck on rye with mayo and a pickle.

* * *

After she’d moved in, Andy found herself stifling a laugh at Emily’s death glare the first time she visited _Runway_ after Miranda had, evidently, decided she was over it all and had taken her hand and held it as they walked toward their car. _Page Six_ was over the moon. “We Told You First!”  
  
Emily waved at her airily and said, in as dismissive a tone as she could muster, which was actually considerable, “I don’t think you need announcing, do you?”  
  
Andy smiled and said, “Awww. Probably not. But you know that I’ve always sort of loved you, don’t you, Emily?”  
  
Emily looked at her in horror, as if Andy had said she was about to pull her heart out with her bare hands.  
  
“I love you, Em.”  
  
Emily’s face flushed.  
  
“Emily?”  
  
That was Miranda’s voice. And because they were both trained, their spines stiffened at that sound. But, immediately, Emily smiled and relaxed, “She means you, _Emily_.”  
  
“She does,” Andy laughed and replied, “Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“When you finish declaring your undying love to _my_ Emily, you can come in. I’m ready for lunch.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
Emily smirked, “Once an assistant, always an…”  
  
Andy winked, “Oh, I assist her, alright.”  
  
Emily blushed scarlet and cursed her English complexion for the billionth time in her stay on Earth.

* * *

They eventually found themselves on their way to a house in Queens on a Sunday afternoon.  
  
As they approached the Castillo home, Andy was faintly surprised but pleased to hear Miranda say, in her very deadliest tone, “Caroline? Cassidy? These are good people. We are wealthy. They are not. We’re the exceptions. They are not. Most people live the way they live. If there’s only one floor to their house or only one bathroom, you are not to mention it. Juan Carlo may not have all of the latest Xbox games and a plasma TV in his room. You are not to mention it. It will shame me terribly if I’ve raised children who would make him ashamed because he doesn’t have what you do.”  
  
Andy was impressed. Caroline nodded, a bit shocked, but Cassidy smiled, “J.C.’s our best friend. We wouldn’t care if he lived in a cardboard box. No probs, Mom.”

* * *

It was strange, Andy thought, to see Miranda so out of her element. She’d talked the woman into jeans and a Barnard sweatshirt, which she’d evidently and uncharacteristically bought when she purchased Andy’s Northwestern sweatshirt.  
  
The house was very small, but lovingly decorated and maintained, and even Andy was proud of the way the girls took to its smaller scale. She’d seen anxiety on Juan Carlo’s face as he’d opened the door and welcomed them but the little guy had impeccable manners. They’d soon started an Xbox game in the living room and ignored the adults.  
  
It was sweet to see Miranda’s rapport with Wanda’s husband, Carlo, who took to her completely and easily. And Miranda was similarly at ease, which was so very refreshing, from Andy’s point of view. At one point, when Miranda caught Andy looking at her, she’d lowered her voice and said, with her typical perspicacity, “What? You’re surprised? This is how I grew up. This was my life before _Runway_.”  
  
Andy could only nod.

* * *

As Andy and Wanda finished preparing a salad and watched Miranda and Carlo supervising steaks on the grill, Wanda said, “They are so alike. They want to pretend not to be soft inside.”  
  
Andy grinned. “But they’re both just jello, aren’t they?”  
  
“ _Si._ But you can never tell them that.”  
  
“They’re so…”  
  
Wanda smiled and finished Andy’s sentence as she diced a cucumber, “ _Si_. As you say, cement covering jello. They are both so ridiculous. Let them think you don’t know. It makes a happy life.”  
  
Andy smiled as she diced a tomato.

* * *

The badminton matches, after their meal, were serious. Andy was pleased with them until Miranda took up her racquet. Of course. She’d assumed Miranda would be a hellcat at anything competitive. Miranda wasn’t a hellcat—she was a demon.  
  
She was more athletic, or maybe just more motivated, than Andy could have imagined. Miranda put Juan Carlo and Caroline in the dust against her and Cassidy.  
  
Carlo laughed as he watched and said, “ _La jefa_ plays to win.”  
  
Miranda laughed and smiled, “I don’t lose. Ever.”  
  
Andy tried, really tried—but Miranda was relentless in a way she’d never seen her. She simply would not lose.  
  
When they’d switched teams and Miranda and Caroline had won another match against Carlo and J.C., Miranda said very specifically to Andy, “I don’t submit.”  
  
“Message received, chief.”  
  
Carlo and J.C. played and lost another time before Carlo conceded, with a laugh, “There’s no point in playing with you, lady.”  
  
Miranda beamed, her face flushed with her effort, “Thank you, Carlo. It took you only one hour to figure out what my board of directors is still taking decades to discover.”  
  
Carlo laughed again and smacked her on the shoulder. She punched him right back. Andy and Wanda smirked at each other and the kids grinned. It was so nice to see the Alphas in the pack getting along.  
  
The rest of the pack played until after the sun had set and Miranda helped Wanda light citronella candles against mosquitoes. Miranda smiled as she said, “This has been a wonderful day, Wanda. Thank you.”  
  
“Oh—it is nothing. Nothing like you could have—“  
  
“No no. Don’t say that. I can’t give you the smell of a grill or this fresh-mown grass or even these candles. I remember times like these when I was a child.”  
  
Wanda nodded. “Then you are lucky.”  
  
“I was. It’s odd, don’t you think,” she said as she touched a match to another candle, “to wonder what memories survive? You never know when you’re living them, do you? This day—this smell—this feeling—this will be something I will remember. Or not.”  
  
She looked at their children, sprawled on the grass and showing each other animals in the stars overhead. “Look at them. I hope they remember this.”  
  
Wanda watched as their children pointed their fingers at the world. “It is good. Even if they don’t remember, it is still good. Good food for the…” she tapped her chest and continued lighting the candles.  
  
Miranda looked about her, at the sweet little house and the lawn and the children and her Andy and she closed her eyes. She could smell the grass and the faint scent of the grill and the night was so pleasantly beginning to be just a bit chilly. _Please remember this_ , she thought. 

* * *

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Although adjustment to life in the Priestly/Sachs household went swimmingly well, a month into the arrangement the girls learned a couple of stiff lessons about eavesdropping they never forgot. Indeed, these lessons made both rush past any conversation they weren’t supposed to hear for the rest of their lives.  
  
Caroline had been doing a popcorn run for her and Cassidy’s movie, when she’d heard her mother and Andy talking softly to each other in the kitchen. She immediately slowed down, crept forward and leaned in just enough that she could see her mom and Andy, who were standing, arms wrapped around each other and kissing. Caroline rolled her eyes. She watched Andy pull away and chuckle as she said, “Someone needs to get to bed soon.”  
  
Her mother said, “Absolutely. I can’t wait to be inside you, darling. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”  
  
“Mmmmm. Sounds fantastic and I’ll be returning that favor—really hard.”  
  
Caroline didn’t really understand what that meant but something about it made her think Eww! Except she immediately realized she’d said it. Out loud. Because her mom whipped her head around and sprang back from Andy like she’d been burned.  
  
Caroline quailed at the look on her mother’s face, which had turned bright red. Andy’s had, too, for that matter and she felt her own face burning.  
  
Andy looked at Miranda and could see the woman was as mortified as she was. But she knew that mortification and Miranda mixed together was a recipe for an anger that would be coolly stated but could be nearly abusive. Before Miranda could say a word, she put a gentle hand on her arm and turned her attention to Caroline.  
  
Caroline had never seen her mom look so angry and had never seen Andy look angry, period. But Andy looked really, really mad now. Even Andy’s voice was weird and different. “I believe I’ve heard your mother tell you and Cassidy many times that eavesdropping is impolite.”  
  
Caroline nodded.  
  
“You’re not to say one word about the private conversation you just spied on us to overhear.”  
  
“But I didn’t spy—not real—“  
  
“You did. And you know you did. Don’t you dare make it worse by lying.”  
  
Caroline started to tear up, but because she was her mother’s daughter, that made her angry. “So what? You were the ones who were talking about—“  
  
“Not ONE MORE WORD.” Andy’s voice was shockingly loud. She strode toward Caroline and the girl backed up one step. “We don’t sneak around listening to you and Cassidy, do we?”  
  
Caroline blinked.  
  
“Do we?”  
  
The girl’s voice was small. “No. I guess not.”  
  
“You know not.”  
  
Caroline looked at the floor and said, “I guess so.”   
  
She felt Andy touch her shoulder and looked up to see the woman make the lightest movement of her head, that was clearly meant to reference her mom, “And I can bet I know what you’re thinking. I’m not your mother. You’re right. That’s why you’re getting off easy, Caroline. Don’t expect the same treatment next time. Tell Cassidy that we’d better not have to have this conversation again. Apologize to your mother.”  
  
Caroline looked past Andy and said, “I’m sorry mom. I won’t do it again.”  
  
Her mom’s mouth was a tight, white line and when she only nodded her response, Caroline knew that Andy was right. Her mom was really too angry to speak. She scurried out of the room.  
  
Andy turned and tried to pull Miranda into a hug but she pulled away sharply, hissing, “Not here. Obviously.”  
  
Andy didn’t relent, just backed Miranda into the counter and hugged her. “Yes here,” she whispered, “this is our home and we can hug anywhere we want.”  
  
She felt Miranda’s arms tighten around her, “But she heard us—“  
  
Andy laughed, “Talking about something she’d be happier off not having heard. So she’s squicked. Sorry, sweetie, and I know it’s harder for you because you’re her mom. But I’m just thinking tough shit for Caroline. We’re not doing anything wrong.”  
  
Miranda looked into her eyes for a long moment and when Andy felt her relaxing into her arms, she said, “She’s not scarred for life, sweetie. Let’s just forget it.”

* * *

Easier said than done, Andy discovered when she’d rushed home early a few days later because Magdalena had had to leave early. As she walked toward the kitchen, she smiled as she heard the girls’ voices. Her smile disappeared when she heard Caroline saying “You think Andy does that to mom? That’s just disgusting!”  
  
Cassidy answered, “I told you, Car—don’t use that word. But I…it’s weird, yeah.”  
  
Andy walked into the kitchen and said, “What’s disgusting?”  
  
Absurdly enough, Cassidy scrambled to grab a kitchen towel lying on the table and covered what they’d been looking at. Caroline, trying to regain her composure and the upper hand, scowled at Andy for one moment and said, “You were spying on us!”  
  
Andy laughed. “I was not. I closed the front door as loudly as always and clomped down the hall just like normal but you guys were talking as loud as parrots. So—let’s hear it. What disgusting thing am I doing to your mom?”  
  
Off the girls’ hesitation, Andy hinted, “I think it’s what’s under the towel.”   
  
Neither of the girls moved or answered, so Andy removed the towel, only to see a book opened to a graphic illustration of cunnilingus. She slammed the towel back down and said, “OhmyGod!” She closed the book under the towel and then looked at the title, _The Joy of Lesbian Sex_.  
  
“OhmyGod,” she said again, more breathlessly. “Where’d you get this?”  
  
Caroline, who was still a bit pissed at Andy about being called on her eavesdropping days earlier, said, “What makes you think it’s not mom’s?”  
  
One look into Caroline’s insolent eyes made Andy answer more frankly than, perhaps, she should have, “Because your mother doesn’t need a manual to know how to love me.”  
  
All of them blushed at the same time and Andy reminded herself that she was the adult. She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m not mad or anything. Promise. I just need to know where you got this.”  
  
Cassidy kept her eyes on the table and said, “Ann Fisher has two moms and she brought it from her house because she saw you and mom in the tabloids and said we should look at it.”  
  
“She did, huh?” Andy sank into a seat at the table, hating Ann Fisher. “She brought it to school?”  
  
“Yeah. Ann said the book would explain stuff so we wouldn’t have to talk to mom about it.”  
  
Andy rubbed her temples and realized she couldn’t even be angry with Miranda about not having the lesbian sex talk with her kids. Because how would she broach that topic? Miranda, of all people?  
  
She sighed and said, “Okay. That totally makes sense. I understand.”  
  
Cassidy looked up, “You do?”  
  
“Yeah, sure. Who wants to talk to their mom about that stuff? You guys know how a man and woman can make a baby, right?”  
  
“Duh,” Caroline said disdainfully, before continuing, haltingly, “but we didn’t know…what two girls do…or even why you’d want to do it.”  
  
Andy scratched her head. “I know you’ve looked at this book and you’ve gotten a few ideas but I’m not going to talk about the specifics about anything your mom and me share. But don’t think it’s because it’s disgusting or gross or anything like that.”  
  
She had the girls’ rapt attention, “It’s very special and very private. Just between your mom and me and a part of our relationship that will never be anyone’s business but ours. So I won’t talk about it and your mom won’t either. I can tell you that people have sex for many different reasons and that some of them aren’t healthy or good for them. We can talk about those things another time.”  
  
Andy propped her head on one hand, “But sex between people who are really in love, like me and your mom, is a perfectly normal and beautiful way to express our love for one another. When you’re grown-ups and you fall in love, whether it’s with a man or a woman, you’ll know what I mean. Promise. Does that make sense?”  
  
Both girls nodded.  
  
“If you have more questions, you can always ask me or your mom. We’ll never get mad at you for asking. Really. And I know it’ll squick you, but I’ll probably talk to you more about sex stuff in the future. Just know it’s really totally normal to have questions about it, okay?”  
  
Both girls nodded again, then Cassidy was brave enough to ask, glancing at the book under the towel, “Does mom have to know?”  
  
“Sorry, but yep.”  
  
“Aw, man!”  
  
Andy smiled at Caroline, “I know. But there’s no way you’re taking that book back to school in a backpack—you’re lucky it wasn’t confiscated by one of your teachers.”  
  
“Mom’s gonna be pissed.”  
  
“Language, Caroline.”  
  
“Oh please, Andy—you say worse every day.”  
  
Andy huffed, because it was so true. “You’re right. I’ll work on that. Seriously, though, I’ll have to get your mom to call Ann Fisher’s mom.”  
  
“But that’ll get Ann in trouble!”  
  
“Cass? If one of your teachers found that book in school, it would get you all in a world of trouble, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“I guess so.”  
  
“Don’t worry—your mom will be cool about it.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
Andy smiled at Caroline and just said, “Because.”  
  
As Andy left the room, Caroline said, “That was so embarrassing it sucked more than anything maybe ever.”  
  
“I know, right? And we are so screwed,” Cassidy replied as she buried her face in her hands.

* * *

Miranda, once Andy had recounted the gist of the story and the woman had looked at the book in the privacy of their bedroom, was not really all that cool about it.  
  
“My children were looking at this?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I can’t believe the—what is that woman thinking leaving a book like this where her child could read it?”  
  
“Maybe she’s one of those ultra-permissive moms who believe their kids should know and see everything from an early age.”  
  
“Or a blathering fool, in other words.”  
  
“I think you just need to call her and say you’ll be sending it back to her.”  
  
“Oh, I will.”  
  
Andy kissed Miranda’s cheek and said, “Be nice, honey. The kids meant no harm. And no harm was done. I took care of your sex talk for you—and that was no fun, believe me. Be nice for me.” Miranda glowered at her but, after a moment, pinched her cheek gently.  
  
Andy listened to the ensuing conversation—not that she was eavesdropping, she snickered to herself, since Miranda was in plain sight and hearing.  
  
After a few minutes, she was amused to hear Miranda say, “Oh, I assure you, I’m not ashamed of anything that goes on in my household. I’m merely saying that, as a parent, I feel quite strongly that my 11-year-old children should not be exposed to illustrations and descriptions of sexuality of any kind. I do understand your child was only trying to assist mine, no matter how misguided, and hope that she’ll suffer no punishment for what I’m sure was kindly intended on her part.” Miranda smirked when Andy winked at her. “I’ll send the book by messenger to your home. Yes. Thank you.”

* * *

The girls were waiting for their doom when Andy came down for dinner. Their mom could not have been more nonchalant as she appeared a few minutes after Andy had finished heating and serving the dinner Magdalena had left for them.  
  
Cassidy ginned up the courage to ask, “Everything okay, Mom?”  
  
Miranda smiled at Andy, then at her girls, “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”  
  
Andy winked at the girls.  
  
The next day, the twins were amazed when Ann Fisher seemed friendly, untroubled and presented with all limbs attached. They’d already loved and trusted Andy but this was the day they began to realize they might have their first and only step-parent. As Stephen never had been. And Cecelia never would be. They both hugged Andy extra tight that evening before they went to bed.

* * *

Six weeks later, Serena walked into Miranda’s office completely unannounced, because the newest, incompetent Emily2 was manning the desk and Emily had probably taken off for the loo. Miranda looked up from a trade magazine and lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”  
  
“Emily has suggested that you may need a new second assistant. I know a person who could do the job very well.”  
  
Miranda removed her glasses and perused Serena’s slim perfection, as she always did. “Go on.”  
  
“Her name is Martha Fonseca. She’s my second cousin.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“She’s Brazilian but fully documented. She’d do a superlative job and could interview tomorrow.”  
  
Miranda waved her hand, “Then bring her in—HR will send her up, I’m sure.”  
  
“No. They won’t.”  
  
“And why’s that?”  
  
“Because she’s not a _Runway_ model.”  
  
Miranda glared at Serena, pointedly, “Only a few people are.”  
  
“Just so. She looks nothing like me or anyone here.”  
  
Sensing an advantage, Miranda removed her glasses and relaxed into her chair, “And what’s in this arrangement for me?”  
  
Serena knew any favor she asked of Miranda would come to this. “Besides getting a competent second assistant?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I’ll model for one—one—fashion spread.”  
  
Miranda’s smile was that of a crocodile. “Very well.” She smiled at Serena’s expression, “Why the long face? I could make you a star.”  
  
“I don’t want to be a star or a model. I want my cousin to have a job.”  
  
“The latter impulse I understand. The former I don’t.”  
  
“I’m sure you don’t. Ask Andy. Perhaps she could explain it to you.”  
  
Miranda looked momentarily as if she’d just seen a tennis ball fly by her. A perfect ace. She nodded curtly. “Send your cousin to me. That’s all.”  
  
Serena turned and smiled as she did so. Advantage, Serena.

* * *

Serena had told Emily she was bringing her cousin in for an interview but the Englishwoman could scarcely believe the person in front of her. Martha was nothing like anyone at _Runway_. Even Emily could admit she had a beautiful face and eyes but she was certainly far shorter and plumper than anyone she’d ever encountered at Runway—in fact in the entire Elias Clarke building.  
  
 _Good Lord. What had Serena been thinking?_  
  
“Yes. Right. Martha is it?”  
  
“Yes, Martha Fonseca.”  
  
When Emily announced the woman, Miranda looked up and her eyes widened. _Good Lord. What had Serena been thinking?_  
  
“Good morning, Miranda Priestly,” the woman said, stepping forward and placing her resume on the woman’s desk, “I am Martha Fonseca, your new second assistant.”  
  
Miranda’s expression hardened, “That remains to be determined. What do you know about Runway?”  
  
She looked at the resume as Martha rattled off a rather impressive exposition about the magazine, its history, and its present day numbers, including demographics, ad revenue and stock analysis.  
  
Miranda looked her over and said as icily as she could, “And yet you have no sense of style. No knowledge of fashion.”  
  
Martha was entirely unfazed. She looked down at her clothes and giggled, “No. I do not. I’m here to help you with the phones and run errands. I can do that. But if you need me to teach you about fashion, I’m sorry to say I can’t do that.”  
  
Well.  
  
That was unexpected. Miranda looked into Martha’s eyes and saw only kindness. They were warm and brown, so like Wanda’s and her Andy’s. She made a snap decision. The woman couldn’t possibly be worse than her current Emily2.  
  
“Very well. Fire the current second assistant if you want a desk.”  
  
“Thank you, Miranda.”  
  
“That’s all.”  
  
It took only two hours to question this decision.  
  
Miranda called out Emily’s name and Emily shooed Martha in, hissing, “She means you—move it.”  
  
After taking Miranda’s instructions, Martha said, “Very good. I have it all. And Miranda? My name is not Emily. It is Martha. It won’t be so hard for you to remember because it is like your name. They both start with an M and there’s an R in the middle and they both end in A. Martha! See? It’s so easy.” She beamed at Miranda and left the office.  
  
Miranda resisted the urge to thump her head on the desk. She hadn’t hired another Wanda Castillo. She’d hired another Magdalena Vargas.

* * *

At that moment, the first Magdalena Vargas was finishing preparations for what she considered the Sachs’ family encroachment on her territory. She’d known they’d said they’d be coming sometime but, suddenly, that sometime had come. She’d made her peace with Andy’s moving in. There was, after all, nothing she could do about it and even she had to admit, to herself, that Miranda and the girls were happier.  
  
Although they were happier and everything was going well, Miranda was nervous about this visit and was going to great pains to act as if she weren’t, which always meant everyone suffered. Magdalena had even found herself feeling sorry for Andy. It was one thing to have to deal with Miranda’s household demands but to have to spend her whole life with her, as well?  
  
Ah ah ah, she thought to herself. One thing to feel sorry for Andy, but Miranda had brought the suddenness of this visit on herself—and all because of that one photo.

* * *

That photo.  
  
It had started with Miranda’s asking Andy to attend a very high-profile charity event at MOMA, the first they’d officially attend as a couple. Although they’d kept their silence, those in the public who were interested and followed the tabloids knew exactly what was going on in the Priestly-Sachs household. Andy felt a thrill go through her when Miranda had invited her as they were readying themselves for bed.  
  
Andy eyed her and asked, “You think we’re ready for that kind of exposure?”  
  
Miranda shrugged and paused as she put toothpaste on her toothbrush, “We’re completely exposed already. Everyone knows we live together, go to dinner and the girls’ events together. We hold hands in the street. It’s the worst kept secret in Manhattan, Andrea.”  
  
Andy wrapped her arms around Miranda as the woman brushed her teeth, resting her head on her back, “I’d love to go with you, sweetheart.”  
  
She looking up and smiled at the sight of Miranda’s frothy smile reflected in the mirror.  
  
“And honey, if I’m going with you? I’ll do the assistant thingy, okay? I’ll brush up on who everyone is and—“  
  
“You don’t have to do that. I have a—“  
  
“You have what? A harem? Why do you need two women when you have me?”

* * *

Nigel had been very…Nigel about it all. He’d been stunned by Miranda’s inviting Andy and even more stunned that she’d asked him to help dress the young woman for the event. “Alright Miranda,” he said coolly, without lifting a brow during a private late-night session in the Closet, “what is her dress supposed to say about the evening?”  
  
“What is it supposed to say?” Miranda repeated. She hesitated and then reasserted herself. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Why do you think the people in that room will imagine I’m living with this younger woman?”  
  
He looked Andy over and said, “Indeed.”  
  
She shrugged and smirked. “Why not a dress that fulfills their expectations?”  
  
“Mmmm. If you think so.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“So. An exhibition of pulchritude?”  
  
“Bordering on it. Keep it tasteful.”  
  
Andy looked from Miranda to Nigel and back again, “I’m in the room, too, you guys. And I don’t know if I like being on…display or making an appearance, like I’m just something to look at.”  
  
Nigel turned to the racks of gowns and said as he flipped through them, “Yes, yes, yes. Display. Appearance. Where are we, again, Andy?”  
  
Andy thought for a moment and said, with a much smaller voice, “The Closet at _Runway_.”  
  
“Bingo. Didn’t you learn anything here? Fashion is always, always, always intentional. I believe Miranda’s intention is to show no shame in her choice of a partner and to throw it in their faces a bit.” He looked at Miranda, “Correct me if I’m wrong, of course.”  
  
She nodded, “Just so, Nigel.”  
  
Andy volleyed back, “Well I’m just saying—I don’t think I’m all that pulchritudinous.”  
  
That got her got a twin ‘you egghead’ smirk from them. Andy slumped into a chair as she waited to find out what the Queen and Dauphin of international fashion would choose for her.

* * *

They made their choice and it was something, alright. Another vintage Valentino. As they readied themselves for the evening, Andy caught Miranda glancing both at her and her very prominently displayed décolletage. It wasn’t scandalous or vulgar but it was a display. As Miranda clasped a necklace Andy truly didn’t want to know the price of around her neck, she smiled. “You’re a vision, Andrea.”  
  
Andy smiled. “I’m your vision.”  
  
Miranda kissed her shoulder, “That you are, my love. But never imagine I don’t know the difference between the visions I create, and a vision that was ready-made and one I know I’m lucky to wake up with every day.”  
  
Andy felt tears welling in her eyes.  
  
Miranda patted her arm. “No no. None of that. The cardinal rule. No matter what, remember your mascara.”  
  
Andy laughed. “Right. First thing’s first!”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Sweetheart, we haven’t exactly discussed how we’re presenting ourselves tonight and—“ This had been on Andy’s mind since the invitation and she’d gotten a change of subject every time she’d brought it up in the meantime.  
  
“We’re presenting ourselves as ourselves, Andrea. Nothing more. Nothing less.”  
  
Andy nodded and said, hesitantly, “O…kay. But what does that mean?”  
  
Miranda sniffed as she placed an earring in one ear, “For once, could you not just follow my lead?”  
  
Andy’s mouth dropped open, “For once!? I can’t believe you just said that to me. I have been doing nothing but since I’ve known—“  
  
Miranda waved a languorous hand, “Yes, yes. All that. Don’t you think I know you’ve been scheduling me—and the rest of my life, apparently,” she turned and scorched Andy with her eyes, “from the very minute we met?”  
  
It was hard, Andy thought, when you were fair-skinned, to hide the fact that your lover had sort of just basically unzipped your zipper. She watched Miranda smirk as she added her other earring, eyeing the flush on her face and chest.  
  
“I’ll say it again, Andrea. Incarnadine suits you.”  
  
“You’re so in trouble later.”  
  
“We’ll see.”

* * *

Andy was so nervous she felt like she was going to throw up in the car during the relatively short ride to MOMA. Only Miranda’s presence and Roy’s smiling face in the rearview kept her centered.  
   
When they stepped out of the car, Miranda took her hand and smiled that fake bullshit smile Andy knew so well. But what wasn’t fake was the warmth of the woman’s hand in hers and the fact that she was making this very public declaration. So Andy smiled, as well.  
  
She’d gotten used to the paparazzi in her time with Miranda, but this was almost blinding. What she’d never really gotten used to was watching Miranda during this sort of circus. The sobriquet Ice Queen did actually suit her. Miranda looked as if nothing about the surreal quality of the scene touched her at all and that it was merely her due. Of course it was. But Andy knew she could never feel that way. As if Miranda had read her mind, she squeezed Andy’s hand and glanced at her with real affection, triumph and pride. Andy stood up straighter and smiled, genuinely smiled, for the cameras.

* * *

After ten minutes spent in the party, Miranda whispered, “If I’d known your presence would have saved my having to actually talk to these people, I’d have brought you ten years ago.”  
  
“If you’d brought me ten years ago, they’d have been gossiping about the fact I was fifteen.”  
  
Miranda actually nearly choked on her champagne and laughed. “Touché, darling.”  
  
As they moved through the room, people finally began to approach Miranda for the requisite fake air kiss and inconsequential talk.  
  
The other guests accepted their introductions to Andy with varying degrees of aplomb. Andy didn’t actually get a sense of hostility from anyone, just a sense of not knowing how to act-ness about it all. Meeting Miranda Priestly’s female lover who was half her age—what was the etiquette for that?  
  
She appreciated the efforts made. Everyone was perfectly cordial, but Andy knew, too well, these events were not held as a meeting of friends. Nearly every person in the room had some private or business stake in the success or destruction of the others. This was the water Miranda swam in—and it was perfectly natural to her. It was not natural to Andy. She felt her anxiety ebb and flow as she met people she knew despised Miranda or whom Miranda despised.  
  
She was happy to be with Miranda, but parties like this were an obligation, not anything to take pleasure in.  
  
Andy was taking a sip of champagne and thinking miserable thoughts when Miranda said, “Ah. Mavis.”  
  
Andy looked and confirmed the face from the pictures she’d studied, “Mavis Devereaux.”  
  
Miranda waved at her from across the room. “Yes. Look at her. Never worked a day in her life…well, let me amend that. Getting a ne’er do well multi-millionaire to marry her must have entailed some sort of labor. She’s a complete viper—and, besides you, the only true friend I have in this room.”  
  
Andy was startled, “Really? You never mention her.”  
  
“Of course not, darling. We realized immediately how much we liked each other and, being the sort of women we both are, knew only distance and never seeing each other could preserve that.”  
  
As she watched Mavis make her way slowly through the room toward her, Miranda whispered, “Look at her. In full regalia. Her bust is like the prow of a battleship.”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
“Is it not?”  
  
“Well…maybe.”  
  
“Make yourself scarce for a moment, darling, or she’ll embarrass you in some way. It’s a specialty of hers.”  
  
Andy moved toward the bar and picked up a glass of champagne, watching Mavis and Miranda exchange cordial greetings.

* * *

After they warmly greeted each other, Mavis said, “I’m sorry I didn’t meet your…  
  
“My…Andrea? Later perhaps.”  
  
They glanced at each other, then at the crowd, both of them knowing that not a soul would be brave enough to approach them while they were together. “So, Miranda. A girl?”  
  
“A woman. Yes.”  
  
Mavis downed her glass of champagne and waved at a waiter for another as they continued to survey the room. “General consensus from the vultures? Not bad.”  
  
“Not bad?”  
  
“Don’t get your hackles up. We can all see she’s a ravishing beauty and I’m completely certain you meant for us to. I mean not bad, generally.” Mavis smiled at a passing guest even as she said, “Is this a passing thing?”  
  
“No. It’s a permanent thing.”  
  
Mavis smiled at the waiter who handed her a new glass of champagne. “Really? Then perhaps you’d better look into that.”  
  
Miranda followed the wave of the woman’s hand and saw Andy talking to Christian Thompson.

* * *

Oh fuck, just what she needed, Andy thought. “Hi, Christian. How are you?” She smiled and quickly pulled out of the kiss he’d planted on her cheek, which he noticed.  
  
“Very well, thanks.” He tapped his glass on hers, “Keeps you on a short leash, does she, Miranda Girl?”  
  
Although he was smiling, his eyes weren’t all that kind and Andy realized his feelings were probably raw for a number of reasons. All of which he’d brought on himself, so fuck him, she thought as she looked at the malevolent gleam in his expression. She lay her hand on her necklace and made a point of feeling around her neck. “Mmmm. Nope. No leash.”  
  
“Just a collar, then? It’s a really nice one.”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” Miranda’s voice surprised them both. “But it’s a beautiful necklace, not a collar. I’m surprised you don’t know the difference. Or perhaps you’re unfamiliar with the word, Christian?”  
  
“Good evening, Miranda.”  
  
“Until now, it has been, yes.”  
  
Andy could feel the warmth of Miranda’s hand through the fabric of her dress and was a bit surprised. Although Miranda had touched Andy’s arm or kept her hand on the small of her back all evening, she hadn’t done this. Miranda’s hand, she realized, wasn’t… _technically_ on her ass. It was on the side of her hip but low enough that the ass/hip boundary was probably two inches apart. It was on the hip side but this was a decidedly possessive touch, a sexually possessive touch.  
Andy glanced at Miranda and lifted an eyebrow. “Wow. Hi there.”  
  
Miranda smirked at her, “Hello, darling. I just came over to see if you needed a hand.” Andy burst into laughter and Miranda beamed at her. Christian had completely disappeared for both of them.  
  
And this was the picture that hit _The Post_ the next day—a laughing Andy and a smiling Miranda whose hand was firmly planted on her lover’s…hip.

* * *

The next day brought a stifled, “Oh. My. God.”  
  
Serena looked up from her coffee. “What’s that, Em? Someone sank the Lusitania?”  
  
“They are both trying to kill me. I swear it.”  
  
Serena took the paper and looked at the photo, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Well, that’s technically her hip, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s her ass, Serena, and we both know it.”  
  
“I think it’s her hip.”  
  
“The PRESS thinks it’s her ass. That’s all that matters! I swear to God, when I see Miranda, I’m going to…” At this point Emily sputtered to a stop.  
  
Serena smiled as she sipped her coffee, “Yes, English. Tell me what you’re going to do to Miranda.”  
  
Emily’s eyes narrowed because she had no real answer. She finally said, “Fuck you.”  
  
“Okay. If you must.”  
  
“I don’t know why I put up with you.”  
  
Serena stood and hugged Emily, “Because I remind you to take deep breaths, darling. Everything will be fine. But does that other offer stand?”  
  
Emily laughed.

* * *

At about the same time Wanda and Carlo were looking at _The Post_ in consternation as Juan Carlo trudged into the kitchen to join them. With a child’s typical prescience about parents, he immediately asked, “Is something wrong?”  
  
“No, son. Nothing.”  
  
Juan Carlo saw the paper on the table and he knew. “Something about Ms. Miranda and Andy?”  
  
They nodded and pushed the paper toward him. He looked at the picture and the headline and his eyes filled with tears.  
  
Before his parents could say anything, he waved at the paper and explained, “This is stupid and I know it. But Caroline and Cassidy? The other kids say very bad things to them at our school.” He wiped his eyes and gave them a watery smile, “It only means they will make fun of us and no one will eat lunch with us for a few days. It will blow over. It always does,” he said, parroting the Priestly twins’ explanation of life in the media.  
  
Carlo touched his son and said, “This doesn’t have to be your battle, Juan Carlo.”  
  
“Yes it does. They’re my friends. I go where they go, isn’t that right, _papi_?”  
  
Carlo tousled his son’s hair as he looked into his wife’s eyes and said, “Absolutely.”  Evidently they were doing something right with the boy.

* * *

“Oh for God’s sake.” Caroline tossed the paper to Cassidy and poured herself a half-cup of coffee. That was all her mom would allow her and only rarely. She decided she deserved it as she topped it off with milk.  
  
Cassidy snickered at the picture and said, “Pour me some too. Mom will have a hard time blaming us for coffee after this.”  
  
“After what?”  
  
That their mother was a force of nature who seemed to be able to put out a force field of ‘Here I Come’ was something that was a fact of life. That she could go into almost stealth mode and just appear they’d never quite adjusted to.  
  
And here she was.  
  
Caroline handed Cassidy her coffee and shoved _The Post_ toward their mother. “Good morning!”  
  
Miranda looked at the picture and the headline, “Priestly Keeps a Hand on the Assets.”  
  
She took a deep breath before Andy also materialized and looked at what held Miranda’s attention.  
  
“Holy shit!”  
  
“Language, Andy,” Caroline said somewhat gleefully.  
  
“Okay. You’re right. Sorry, Car.”  
  
Andy read the story, which was purple prose. Geesh. “Well! So that’s what’s on the menu today.”  
  
“This week—or until the press lets it go.” Miranda replied.  
  
Andy kissed Miranda on the side of the head and said, “For the record, girls, she was touching my hip—not my asset.”

* * *

Andy’s mother did not think it was Andy’s hip and was nearly apoplectic. Richard talked her down from the ledge of making a call right away but soon she mustered on. “She’s making Andy look cheap!”  
  
“How’s that?”  
  
“Her touching her that way.”  
  
“The way one lover touches another. Audrey, you really haven’t faced the fact they’re lovers.”  
  
“I’ve faced it—I don’t like it.”  
  
“Why? Exactly? You’re not homophobic and I know it.”  
  
Audrey paused and said, after some thought, “This can’t be real—she’s twice our daughter’s age and wealthy and just using Andy for…entertainment or something.”  
  
“Then let’s visit them and see.”  
  
“Fine—you set it up.”  
  
Which was how Andy found herself on the phone with her father arranging a visit she really didn’t want.

* * *

  
Miranda was firing off instructions to Martha the first Monday after ‘the photo.’ The young woman had turned out to be marvelously adept at her job and she scribbled and nodded, as usual.  
  
“That’s all.”  
  
“Oh! I forgot to tell you something.”  
  
Miranda waited.  
  
Martha looked down at her own body and giggled, “I don’t have such a slender waist, but Miranda? If you put your hand up here,” Martha demonstrated mid-waist—“and not here.” She placed her hand on her hip, “People don’t get the wrong idea. See? It’s so easy.” She smiled beatifically, turned and left.   
  
Miranda blinked her eyes and drummed her fingers on her desk. Alright. If that’s how fate was going to treat her? Fine.  
  
“Emily? And _my_ Emily, for God’s sake.”  
  
Emily always shuddered a bit at Miranda’s using a possessive anywhere near her name but rushed into the office.  
  
“Give Martha the key. She can bring the book. Try to explain she’s not to march around the premises giving orders. If you can."

* * *

The night before the visit, Cassidy quietly approached Andy in her mother’s study, where she was finishing a story.  
  
“Andy?”  
  
“Yeah Cass?”  
  
“Is your family going to like us?”  
  
“Of course, honey. Why would you ask?”  
  
“No. Look at me—are they going to like us?”  
  
Andy looked into Cassidy’s somber eyes and understood the question, “You mean are they going to like your mom?”  
  
Cassidy nodded.  
  
“Honestly? I don’t know.”  
  
“That’s what I thought.”  
  
“But Cassidy? You know what? I don’t care. I love your mother and you and Caroline and Patricia and you’re my family so I don’t care. Whatever they think or feel or say isn’t going to change that.”  
  
Cassidy scowled and Andy could see she was trying not to cry. “You promise?”  
  
Andy pulled the girl into her arms, “I will never leave you guys. Never.”  
  
Cassidy sniffed as she pulled away and said, stiffly, “That’s good I guess.”  
  
Andy grinned at her. The girl was just like her mother.

* * *

Andy wondered whether there was any hotter place in hell than in LaGuardia airport waiting for her family. As she waited, she felt a sheen of flop sweat because she was really conflicted about the limo that Miranda had demanded she and Roy take to the airport. Miranda had waved a hand and said, “How else to fit five people in a car?”  
  
“I can ride in the front with Roy.”  
  
“Nonsense. It’s not done.”  
   
Of course it was done, Andy thought, outside of Miranda’s world. But the woman’s money made these things possible. Miranda was adamant that Andy consider their joint resources completely equal and had added the younger woman to every account she had. Andy found herself still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was now, for all intents and purposes, a wealthy woman. Who had a limo and driver at her disposal. Which was both true and weird.  
  
She bit her lower lip. So much had changed. When she’d worked at _Runway,_ she’d always toned down her clothing when she went home, because she hadn’t wanted to seem like a clacker. Now? At home, she schlubbed around and Miranda sniffed occasionally, to Andy’s delight, but the woman put up with it. In public, unless she were going somewhere that demanded the informal, Andy always dressed for her woman and had decided not to be ashamed of that. She looked sexily fierce today, and knew it.  
  
When her family approached, looking for her, she was holding a sign that said, “Sachs?”  
  
Sam was the first to see her and rushed to hug her, picking her up off the ground. He shook her playfully, “Who are you? What have you done with my sister?”  
  
She kissed his cheek and said, “You’re such a goofball, Sammy.”  
  
He released her and replied, “I know, but you look fucking HOT. And you’re my sister—that ‘s really not fair.”  
  
“Perv. I’m testing you, baby boy.”  
  
He grinned at her, “Okay. Fine. Incest provoked but thwarted!”  
  
She bumped foreheads with him happily as their parents joined them.  
  
Andy hugged her parents and watched as her mother assessed her, “You look…different, Andy.”  
  
Andy laughed, “Of course I do. I live with the woman who dresses the world. She dresses me, too.”  
  
“Really? Does that mean she makes you wear what she wants?”  
  
Andy blinked. Okay. Bound to happen. “No. She loves me in whatever I’m wearing. It means I like dressing to please my sweetheart. And let’s face it—I look great so no problem, right?”  
  
Her father hastily assented, “You really do.”  
  
“Thanks, Dad. Roy’s waiting on us.”  
  
“Who’s Roy?”  
  
“Our driver.”  
  
Sam smirked before their mother said, “You have a driver?”  
  
Andy decided not to take the bait. “Of course we do. This is New York. A driver, a car, a cab or the subway. We can afford a driver.”  
  
Audrey replied, coldly, “She has enough money for a driver.”  
  
“We have enough, Mom. You’ll have to get used to that. This is entirely ‘we’ from now on.”  
  
They stepped out of the airport to find Roy, who winked at Andy as she introduced them but loaded their bags without comment.  
  
As they piled into it, Andy could see her parents were a bit nonplussed and that Sam was totally loving it. Lucky bastard. She wasn’t. She sort of wanted to evaporate. They were heading straight for lunch with Miranda at Nobu, because it was cool but not as ostentatious as the older woman might have sprung for, given her own devices.  
  
On the way to the restaurant, Miranda called to apologize, saying she’d be ten minutes late, which made Andy’s heart ache a bit. Miranda must be horrifically nervous if she was apologizing for being late.   
  
When they arrived the host hastened to greet her and air kissed her cheeks, “Andy, it’s been too long.”  
  
She smiled and said, “I agree. These are my parents and my brother.”  
  
He led them to the best table in the house and said, “We’re delighted to have you, Andy. You and your family.  
  
“Miranda should be here any time.”  
  
He almost bowed. “Of course.”  
  
The server, Charles, approached them immediately, gave them their menus and asked for drink orders.  
  
Because Andy knew her family, she said, “Charles, we’d all love water with lemon but do you remember that sake that Miranda loved so much the last time we were here?”  
  
“The Daiginjo?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“I know so.”  
  
Andy smiled, “I think we’d enjoy that.”  
  
As they perused the menu, she said, “We should all have the Chef’s Choice—that’s always fantastic.”  
  
Sam looked and snickered, “But dude, that’s so mad expensive.”  
  
Andy grinned at him, “You’re not paying for it. My treat.”  
  
Her mother sniped, “She’s paying for it,” even as Richard covered her hand and said, “Audrey, please.”  
  
Andy counted to five before responding quietly, “Mom? I am in a committed relationship with a woman who shares everything with me. I can afford this. I have joint access to her bank accounts and we have joint credit cards. I really hoped you’d come to see how happy I am, not to judge my family.”  
  
Audrey took a deep breath, feeling her husband’s warm hand on hers. “Of course, I’m sorry.”  
  
Sam tried to break the tension, “So, Andronicus Rex, do we need to keep an eye out for Miranda?”  
  
“Nope,” she said, looking at the menu. “You’ll know the minute she walks in.”  
  
“How’s that?”  
  
“The barometric pressure in the room will change.”  
  
Sam looked at her for a few seconds and said, “You’re serious aren’t you?”  
  
“Oh yeah. Watch. You’ll feel it.”  
  
And sure enough, Sam did feel it. Something in the room changed, really changed. The volume of noise in the restaurant dropped audibly. Sam looked at Andy as she smiled and leapt to her feet. She’d been asleep when Miranda had kissed her before leaving for a very early meeting. But she wasn’t surprised to see that Miranda had changed the setting on her fashion phaser from stun to kill. Miranda looked ferociously hot and every eye in the room was on her as she walked toward the table.

* * *

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Even as Miranda crossed the room, the Sachs family stood for their introductions and Andy did a quick assessment. Given the moodiness of the past few days and what had happened the night before, it was pretty much as she’d expected. The editor of _Runway_ was coming to lunch. Not the best of all possible worlds for a meeting with the parents. In fact, it was about 3rd behind the first in worst, a nuclear apocalypse and Hell running just a bit ahead. She smiled at Miranda as she approached and the woman returned what passed for a smile at Elias Clarke. Oh dear. Andy felt her tension level ratcheting higher.  
  
“Darling, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Miranda said as she kissed Andy’s cheek before offering her hand to Andy’s parents. She air-kissed Sam, which made him blush.   
  
Miranda said to Audrey and Richard, “From what Andrea has told me about Samuel and my eyes confirm, I see you only create intelligent, charming and lovely children.”  
  
Richard replied, “Thank you. We like to think they’re pretty okay.”  
  
“That at least one of them is, I can assure you,” she said as they took their seats.  
  
Andy asked, “Bad day, sweetheart?”  
  
“If this day somehow rises in some miraculous way to the level of bad, it will still have been a complete waste of my time.”  
  
“Youch.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
   
Charles approached with a menu and Miranda waved one hand. “Are you asking me something?” She stared at him and he blanched.  
  
Before the man could say another word, Andy leapt in, “Charles? We’ll all have the Chef’s Choice and Miranda will have what she always has. Just tell the chef. He’ll know.”  
  
He almost genuflected to her for helping him.  
   
Miranda smiled at the Sachs family and said, “Since we have a limited time for lunch, I thought we could wait to speak about the 800 pound gorilla in the room until later. Is that amenable to all of you?”  
  
“Totally.” Sam said, immediately, “Bananas either.” He began to sing, “Yes, we have no bananas. We have no gorillas today…”  
  
“You’re much too young to remember that song,” Miranda said.  
  
“I’m chock full of trivia, lady.”  
  
Miranda looked between Sam and Andy who were both smiling at her. “Oh. I see. Separated at birth.”  
  
They relaxed into their chairs in the studied, mannered nonchalance of poker players who knew every one of the other might be armed. But their lunch was fairly civil, Andy thought. They were all on their best behavior, although that was always sort of a contradiction in terms with her partner. Miranda did ask questions about each of their lives and jobs, followed up with true interest and Andy was feeling a little lighter as they were finishing their meal. Which was when Miranda’s cell rang.

* * *

Richard and Audrey and Sam were watching the interaction of their daughter with this…person with all the avidity they could without being frankly rude and all of them found it odd. Although his parents had their doubts, only Sam had faith he’d see something in the woman Andy loved because he wanted to believe she was right, if only for her sake. Miranda was ferociously intimidating and intelligent, and although she was obviously trying to be friendly, that seemed to him like something just a little outside of her emotional ballpark.  
  
When the cell rang, she dipped into her bag, looked at the number and said, “Excuse me—it’s terribly rude but I simply must take this.” They all nodded and watched as the wrath of God unfolded before them. Sam had always thought that maybe Andy was, just maybe, exaggerating a little bit about Miranda at work, but holy fucking hell…  
  
He watched as the woman’s face became expressionless and noticed Andy closing her eyes for a long moment before Miranda unleashed the most relentless and scathing, yet cool, quietly-stated and calculating load of ripshit pissed-off he’d ever heard in his life. He felt like a bowl of jelly just listening to it. God help the person hearing it on the other end. And then Miranda said, “And we can, what? Blame all of this on a ridiculous community official whose incompetence means we have no clearance for our location. Perfect. Perhaps we should alert the press. Oh, but they’re all incompetent too, aren’t they?”  
  
And that’s when he saw it—the slightest flicker of mischief in Miranda’s eyes as she glanced at Andy during this comment. Andy rolled her eyes, grinned and Miranda’s mouth twitched a bit.  
  
He listened as Miranda began to rattle off a list of instructions that must have seemed like a machine gun to the poor bowl of jelly on the other end because it was lightning fast and went on and on and on. And oddly enough, he saw his sister’s face soften into kindness and warmth as she listened to it.  
  
And then there was a “That’s all.”  
  
As Miranda rang off, she said, “I truly apologize for that. It was time-sensitive.”  
  
Sam heard their parents give a stunned sort of ‘no probs’ answer after which Andy suddenly popped in with, “That used to be me on the other end. Every single day.”  
  
Miranda glanced at her sharply, “So it did.”  
  
“Let me see if I got that…” and Sam was amazed as Andy repeated what seemed to him a pretty astonishing recollection of what Miranda had just said.  
  
He watched as Miranda’s expression changed yet again—it was different but he didn’t know how. She was unreadable to him.  
  
“Very good, Andrea. You were such a very passable second assistant.”  
  
“Passable? I was the first assistant!”  
  
“Yes, for the few days before you decided to toss our company phone into a fountain in Paris.”  
  
Andy muttered, loudly enough for all of them to hear, “Best day's work I ever did.”  
  
“Yes. Your best day of work ever. My point exactly.”  
  
Andy laughed out loud, grabbed her napkin and smacked Miranda in the shoulder with it. “Just wait. You are so in trouble for that.”  
  
Miranda sniffed before she said, “And how exactly am I in trouble? Because you’re making dinner tonight?”  
  
“Oh my God. You’re so...so…”  
  
“I’m so what, Andrea?”  
  
There was a long pause between them and Sam could see it now; it was a very fond pause.  
  
Miranda smirked and said, “Why don’t you wear that one sweatshirt I particularly abhor and we’ll call it even. You couldn’t punish me more horribly.”  
  
“I will. Deal?”  
  
“Deal.”  
   
Sam watched as Miranda smiled at her and his sister beamed right back. He and their parents had disappeared for them.  
  
Case closed. Miranda was in love, too. Good enough for him.

* * *

The ride back, to drop Miranda off to Elias Clarke and then on to the townhouse, was strange. Andy sat by Miranda, took her hand, and placed it on her own thigh. She talked to her family as they drove and was grateful that her complete lack of interaction with Miranda seemed to be giving them a clue. Miranda couldn’t abide talking on the way back to _Runway_. Three blocks from _Runway_ , Andy took her hand from Miranda’s and let her just be, so the woman could focus. When they arrived, she nodded but left the car without saying a word.  
  
As they waited to pull from the curb, Sam said as he watched Miranda cross the slight distance from the car into Elias Clarke, “My God, she’s uh…really…”  
  
“Sorta ferocious? Yeah, she is.”  
  
As she replied, he glanced at their parents and realized he didn’t have the slightest idea what they were thinking.

* * *

What was a house, Andy thought, as her family entered hers? It really was only a place where she hoped her family would see her settled and happy but…  
  
Sam whistled, “Fucking hell, Andrew—you got it goin’ on!”  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“Well Mom? Seriously! Get a load of this joint.”  
  
Magdalena approached them and Andy introduced them all. “Magdalena is our household tyrant and is she who must be obeyed.”  
  
“Ah ah ah, Andy. Me? The tyrant? You know who comes later and then they will see tyranny. Put your cases in our little elevator and Andy will show you about—so she told me.”  
  
Sam and Andy helped Magdalena load the cases into the elevator and Andy said “Remember I said they can take them off themselves upstairs—no reason for you to lift.”  
  
Magdalena scowled at her. “No lifting. No cooking tonight. No nothing. So I see. You don’t need me?”  
  
“We need you desperately. But I want our girls to get to know my family tonight and how better than to cook for them? You’ll cook something one thousand times better tomorrow at our party. You know what we need tonight--I told you.”  
  
Magdalena looked into Andy’s kind face, “I would never have thought to say it but I will. It is good you are here, Andy.” She gave a stony glance at the family, “No one should say differently.”  
  
As Magdalena disappeared in the elevator, Sam said, “That’s a tough old bird.”  
  
“Yeah—but she’s our tough old bird.”  
  
Andy took a breath and said, “So this is our home.”  
  
She walked them through the downstairs level and then walked them upstairs and said as she passed the rooms, “Caroline and Cassidy’s rooms are here. Their entertainment room is here, which is where we spend most of our family time.”   
  
“Miranda has a study downstairs, as you saw, but our study’s here—and yeah—we have soundproofing against the entertainment.”  
  
“Can we see it?” Her mother’s voice was soft.  
  
“Of course. You can see anything you want.” As she opened the room, Audrey was surprised by the amount of detail centered on Andy. It looked exactly what she’d imagined her daughter’s dream study always would but it also was obviously shared by Miranda, who had a framed picture above her computer that caught her eye.  
  
She crossed and looked at this beautifully framed picture, one of Miranda and Andy smiling while the two children leaned in and grinned.  
  
“Where was this taken?”  
  
“In Connecticut. John, our girls’ dad, took the picture. That’s where the girls spend time with John and Cecelia. We had the coolest weekend there. It was a blast.”  
  
“You get along with…”  
  
“John and Cecelia? Of course we do.”  
  
“Andy? He doesn’t mind that his children’s mother is—“  
  
“With me? No. Of course he doesn’t. Emphatically doesn’t.”  
  
The tone in Andy’s voice was equally emphatic and Audrey didn’t say anything else about the room.  
  
When Andy walked them further down the hall, she pointed to one door and said, “This is our closet” and to the next and said, “That’s our bedroom.”  
  
Andy wasn’t surprised when her mother again asked, “Could I see?”  
  
“The closet? Sure.”  
  
She opened it, turned on the light and Sam offered the commentary. “Holy shit.”  
  
“Yeah. I know. It’s—well, she’s who she is. I just hang out and watch.”  
  
“Does she let you have your own space?”  
  
“No. I have to keep my clothes in a box. Jesus, mom. I have racks over here and there’s another sort of antechamber where we put some of my stuff because it’s so awful.”  
  
“That’s what she says?”  
  
“Sure. Because it’s true.”  
  
“But surely she should respect your---“  
  
“Bad taste? Nope. Not going to happen. But in the house, I can wear what I want.”  
  
Andy could see the veins in her mother’s forehead pulsing. Bad sign. “You said something like that before. She doesn’t respect what you want to wear outside the house?”  
  
“I didn’t say that. I could wear my pajamas outside every day and she’d be appalled but she’d still love me. As I’ve told you, I dress for her because I love her. We put certain items of my fashion out of sight because it’s…happier for both of us.”  
  
“And here’s our bedroom. It’s a bit big but it’s the main thing in the house.”  
  
And it was. Richard and Audrey looked at it almost solemnly because the bedroom, the whole house, was so enormous. What more could they have wanted for their daughter than for her to have a happy career and live a very safe and comfortable life like this? But Sam, because he noticed their serious faces and because he was a fucking imp as far as Andy was concerned, bounded across the room and bounced onto the bed, “So this is where the magic happens?”  
  
Andy blushed scarlet, “No! I mean yes! Sometimes. I mean, the magic happens every time I see her.”  
  
“It does? Wow! You must be tired all the time.”  
  
“Sam! You know what I meant.”  
  
Sam looked up at the room’s ceiling and then back at her and said, very seriously, “Sorry for the language, Mom, but this is all so fucking cool. I’m really happy for you, Andy.”  
  
“Thanks, Sammy. Now, get off our bed!”  
  
“Make me.”  
  
“Oh my God. Mom? Dad? Make Sam get off our bed.”  
  
Because Audrey and Richard were completely befuddled but had heard this particular argument many times, Richard said, “Sam—get off of your sister’s bed.”  
  
Andy grinned, “Go for the primal parental instinct. Always works, Sammy boy.”  
  
He grinned right back as he jumped up and said, “Great digs, anyway, honey. Where are ours?”  
  
After she’d showed them to the third floor and they were moving back down toward the kitchen, Sam pulled her aside and said, “In just a few minutes, Mom’s going to do the old divide and conquer and send me and dad off and grill you like a sausage dog. Stand tall. Like a man, sorta. You have a good woman and you have what you have. Seriously—don’t listen if it’s—.”  
  
“How don’t I listen to all that harsh—“  
  
“She’s sometimes incapable of being any different, okay? So you recognize it and meet it at the door and say no. Say I love you with all my heart but no. How about that? I mean, I’d do it for you and have. Would you do it for me?”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“Why not for yourself, honey?”  
  
Andy stalled for a few moments, “But what if—“  
  
“Things aren’t perfect and you have to deal with a really temperamental older woman? Am I missing something about your skills?”   
  
“Oh fuck you.”  
  
“So you do love me!”  
  
“With all my heart.”  
  
He put his forehead on hers, “What’s your endgame? Mom or Miranda?”  
  
“No question. Miranda.”  
  
“So what’s your problem?”  
  
“Not one in this world.”  
  
They walked down together and, as Sam had promised, their father suggested the ‘guys’ go out and stretch their legs. Before they left, however, Richard pulled Andy into a hug and whispered, “You seem very happy. Fight for it.”  
  
He winked as he pulled away and she felt tears sting her eyes. “I will, Daddy. Thank you.”

* * *

Audrey actually wasn’t looking forward to this any more than Andy. If she were honest with herself, she’d come to sort Andy out with a bit of motherly bullying just as she had hundreds of times before. But this person, the one who had met them at the airport, was not the Andy she’d always known. This was, evidently, the Andy who’d shocked her so badly during that one disastrous conversation.  
  
She desperately wanted to avoid another emotional blowout with her daughter and Richard had admonished her so repeatedly about this issue that she’d finally blown up at him. She took deep breaths as they settled down in the kitchen with some tea. When Magdalena had left them to go on shopping errands, Andy sighed deeply and said, “And now, for the interrogation portion of the visit.”  
  
Audrey had the grace to blush and laugh softly before saying, “I’m not going to interrogate you, Andy. I’m going to talk to you. I know your father and Sam are going to say everything’s great and fine but I’m your mother.”  
  
“I know, I know. And it’s always your job to find the fly in the ointment.”  
  
“You three always laugh at that but sometimes, Andy? Sometimes, there _is_ a fly in the ointment, isn’t there? I think we could both name a few times throughout all of your lives I’ve pointed out things that needed pointing out.”  
  
Andy stared at the table because this was true. “Fine. But we’re going to set ground rules, okay?”  
  
“Ground rules? To talk to your own mother?”  
  
Andy’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right? We’re going to pretend we don’t remember how you reacted when I told you about Miranda?”  
  
Audrey shifted in her chair, “Well, you’re right about that but I sincerely apologized for that and I’d hoped you’d—“  
  
“Forgiven? Yes. Forgotten? No. All I’m saying is this—so we don’t have anything else to sincerely apologize about later, we should establish a couple of things. You are in my home—on my turf. You will not say anything disrespectful about Miranda or our relationship. I won’t tolerate it. You can ask about whatever you’re wondering and express your concerns to me, even if they’re uncomfortable for both of us, but only if you state them reasonably and respectfully, okay?”  
  
Her mother nodded, “Believe it or not, I was thinking along the same lines myself. I agree.”  
  
“Alright then, shoot. Figuratively, course.”  
  
Audrey sighed, “It’s hard to know where to begin.” She waved vaguely at the room and at Andy and said, “All of this. Do you know how mind-blowing this is for us?”  
  
Andy coughed on her tea. “For you? Try being me. I live it. I’m still basically the same woman I was living in that crappy little apartment with Nate. Except now I live here.”  
  
“But you’re not the same, Andy.” Off Andy’s look, Audrey hastened to say, “Hold your horses. I mean, look at you—your clothes, your hair and your make-up. They’re only externals and I know that but they’re big changes. I see the pictures in the tabloids and it’s sometimes hard to believe it’s you. I’ve seen you a certain way all your life and now you’re not the girl I knew. It’s not nearly the same thing but, for example, if Sam started cross-dressing, it would take some getting used to.”  
  
Andy smirked and said, “Think of the size of heels that poor boy would need.”  
  
“I agree—clearly specialty items.”   
  
“Honestly? For all we know there’s a drag outlet in the garment district. You can never count New York out. But, seriously, I do see your point, mom.”  
  
“Thank you. The biggest change I see, though, is in your attitude. You’re sitting here and you’re clearly my Andy—but you’re so different. Can you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
Andy looked into her mother’s eyes. There was only concern in them and the question was stated so gently that she forced herself to relax a bit. She thought for a few moments. “I think I do. I know I’m more confident, definitely more self-assured. But that could also just be the fact that…okay…you want honesty, right?”  
  
Audrey nodded.  
  
“I know I’ve changed a little or maybe a lot because Miranda’s so much older. I guess in some May-December romances, the older person goes for the second childhood option. That’s not how it works with us. I have to step up to her because it’s not going the other way. She’s obviously not a child, but she’s not childish either.” She grinned as she amended, “Although I'd say that’s occasionally debatable at _Runway_. But you know what I mean. We’ve both met plenty of older people who've never progressed past the age of 20. She’s a grown-up. Nate and I were adults but we were still kids in a lot of ways. And she’s not—at all.”  
  
“Well honey, that’s another concern. You’re skipping so much of the life you could have with a younger person. You know I’m not talking gender. Just a younger person, a person you could share all that growth with. I’ve wondered if you’ve just discounted the importance of that.”     
  
Andy toyed with her cup, and sighed. “I haven’t discounted it, Mom. Of course not. But it’s a trade-off. I might have that with another person but I don’t want someone else. I want Miranda. I love her.”  
  
Audrey took a deep breath and said, “Now that I’ve met her, and please don’t take this the wrong way, okay? Promise?”  
  
“Okay. Promise.”  
  
“Having met her, it’s…difficult to understand the attraction.”  
  
Andy cackled, “Besides the intelligent, beautiful, sexy, wealthy and powerful stuff, you mean?”  
  
“You know exactly what I mean. Is she like…like she was at lunch all the time?”  
  
“Oh God, okay. This will take another cup of tea. Want one?”  
  
“Yes please.”  
  
After Andy had poured, she replied, “To varying degrees, yes, she’s exactly like that all the time.”  
  
“But my God, Andy! How could you possibly—“  
  
Andy put up a hand, “Mom! Hold up! My turn to talk. I’m trying to think how best to put this.” She took a sip of tea and said, “Miranda is the best in the world at what she does. Think about that mom. In the world. You know why? She has total laser focus, laser aim and she’s completely, relentlessly demanding. She doesn’t second-guess herself and she has no use for hesitation. Excuse my language, but she also doesn’t have time to fuck around and explain herself.”  
  
She hesitated, furrowed her brow and continued, “Okay—how about a car analogy? When we’re all putzing along in our little compact-life-cars at about thirty miles per hour, we can afford to over-steer a little or look around or hesitate. But she’s going faster than the speed of sound in her land-speed life-car, so her system has almost no tolerance for imperfection. Imperfection means catastrophe for her. And I’m totally sure _Runway_ didn’t make her that way. She made _Runway_ because she is that way. That’s just her as a human being. Pretty much all the time.”  
  
“But how can you live like that?”  
  
Andy snorted. “Christ, I couldn’t. I don’t live like that. I live with someone who lives like that. There’s a huge difference.”  
  
“Point taken—and again, don’t take this the wrong way. Given her personality, it seems like there must be a huge inequality in your relationship. She’s demanding and you’re the one who’s changing—you’re the one who’s conceding.”  
  
Andy suddenly smiled, then shook her head.  
  
“What, Andy?”  
  
“Nothing really. It just occurred to me. Are you worried that I’ve just sort of added sex and cohabitation to the whole personal assistant gig?”  
  
Audrey blushed and said, “Andrea! I wouldn’t put it like that.”  
  
“I know you wouldn’t but is that part of what you’re worried about?”  
  
“I suppose so.”  
  
“So you’re telling me in all the years you’ve been married to dad you didn’t sometimes, occasionally, feel like his personal assistant with benefits?”  
   
“I’m not going to answer that question,” Audrey said with a smirk.  
  
“I'll take that as a yes. To answer your question about the inequality thing—it may look like it but no. I do find it easier to concede certain things if they make her happy. Not because she’d make my life hell if I didn’t but because I truly don’t care. For example, it’s not exactly the worst thing in the world to wear fantastic clothes. Remember that in life in general, she demands complete compliance. So when she doesn’t get her way in our relationship 100% of the time, and believe me she doesn’t, it means she’s deferring to me. She’s always going to have something snarky to say about it, but that’s just normal.”  
  
Andy finished her tea, “That’s appropriate—drained the cup and I feel drained. Let’s stop for a bit, okay?”  
  
“Alright. Thank you for talking to me.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes. “Not like I had a choice.” She reached across the table and took her mother’s hand. “Thank you for having a _nice_ talk with me. I appreciate it. In fact, it was so civilized that it was almost anti-climactic.”  
  
“I like to keep you guessing, Andy.”  
  
“Well, you do. And Mom—let me amend something I said. Miranda, in our most private moments, isn’t the person you see. She adores and loves me more than anyone I’ve ever known. She gives me so much joy. Isn’t that what you want for me?”   
  
Audrey kissed her daughter’s hand. “Yes. That’s what I want.”  
   
Andy felt nearly light-headed with relief. She leaned back in her chair, and even as she did so and even though it was a horrible idea for a ton of reasons, decided to ask for her own answers. “I’m sure you don’t mind if I have a couple of questions for _you_ , do you?”  
  
Her mother's eyes tightened but she said, “Alright. Fair enough.”  
  
“Since that Assets _Post_ picture brought about this emergency session, so to speak, are you still angry about it?”  
  
The older woman crossed her arms, “Honestly?”  
  
“That’s why we’re here.”  
  
“Yes. I am. A little.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I didn’t like how it made you look.”  
  
Andy, hearing the tension escalating in her mother’s voice, scrubbed her face with her hands, “How’s that exactly? She wasn’t groping me. The picture just showed that I have a female lover, which I do, and that’s she’s affectionate, which she is. What was the problem?”  
  
“It didn’t look like affection. It looked possessive—like she was claiming her territory.”  
  
“Well, I gotta say it—that part of my territory is all hers.”  
  
“Don’t be facetious.”  
   
“I’m not being facetious. And relax, please. Let me ask you this. Did either of us look miserable in that picture?”  
  
Audrey glared and her voice cooled perceptibly. “No. Quite the contrary in fact.”  
  
Ah. The anger was directed at Miranda _and_ at her. _Oh. Ohhhh_ , Andy thought.  
  
“I’m guessing you didn’t like the fact that I didn’t seem to mind where her hand was, huh?”  
  
“No. I certainly did not.”  
  
“Right. Okay. Wow. I don’t know how to respond to that. Well actually, I _do_ but it’s…”  
  
Andy ran her fingers through her hair, and turned her head as if considering something before she spoke, “I’m going to tell you something that's too much information, actually, but that you might, from your motherly or woman’s intuition, already have guessed from that picture. Maybe that’s what’s upsetting you so much.”  
  
She looked directly into her mother’s eyes, “I loved having her hand there as much as she loved putting it there. I love that she’s possessive and demanding and yes, I’m talking about sex. In fact, I know now that even when she was scaring the shit out of me and making me cry on a semi-daily basis at _Runway_ , I found her power over me incredibly sexy. Of course, now she doesn’t scare me at all and almost never makes me cry but we still have that same sexual dynamic. I love it. She loves it. And whatever you think, it’s not inequality. We’re a perfect match.”    
  
Audrey was stunned, “I don’t understand that, at all.”  
  
“That’s just it, Mom. You don’t have to. It belongs to me and Miranda and it’s personal. The only reason I’ve even told you is that I think you’ve believed she’s been taking advantage of me in some way. She’s not. I am much more than willing.”  
  
Seeing that her mother was evidently truly too shocked to answer, Andy continued, “Since you don’t understand, I’ll explain that what I’ve just told you has next to nothing to do with my daily life with Miranda. It’s part of our intimate life. I’ll assume that the questions you were asking before were sincere.”  
  
“Of course they were!”  
  
“And my answers were sincere. But you wanted to know the answer I just gave you, so now you have it.”  
  
Audrey stared at the table shaking her head, “No. I don’t think I wanted to know that.”  
  
“Oh, mom! Please. You thought Miranda was taking some sort of sexual advantage of me, didn’t you? Be honest.”  
  
There was a deep sigh of “Yes.”  
  
“Right. The answer is no. But I’m sorry that the truth is probably a lot more uncomfortable for you than your half-baked suspicions.”   
  
Audrey stared at her daughter and snorted, “You got that right.”  
  
Her daughter’s eyes, so like her own, were soft and gentle, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to say it but to say it. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in love and incredibly happy. Please try to reserve judgement until you really spend time with us. Okay? Please?”  
  
“Fine. But please, please don’t tell your father what you just told me.”  
  
Andy barked out a laugh, “Good God no! How would that ever come up with dad?  
  
“Who knows? It came up with me somehow.”  
  
“What a mystery. You made assumptions and were fishing, that’s how.”  
  
Audrey narrowed her eyes, “Very funny, young lady.”  
  
“Mom?”  
  
“Oh God, nothing else.”  
  
“No, but…” Andy walked around the table and reached for her mother tentatively.  
  
Her mother stood and pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you, Andrea.”  
  
“I love you, mommy. And just for the record? I think some flies in the ointment are better left unfound.”  
  
“Yes. As Sam would say, ‘no shit.’ In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I might have a quick nap before the boys get back. I’ve been so worried about all this I haven’t slept in days.”  
  
“Wore you out, huh? Sure—you know where your room is. I’ll get dad to come up and wake you when they’re back.”  
  
Andy walked back to the kitchen. She was still a little shocked at herself, that she’d told her mother something so personal. But fuck it. It would almost certainly ward off any future meddlesome discussions about her sex life. She grabbed a Pellegrino and took a seat at the kitchen table, wincing as she did so. Her mother didn’t know the meaning of worn out.

* * *

The week before the visit had been sheer hell. Everyone in the house had been staying out of Miranda’s way with a vengeance and what interaction they had with her was very quiet or silent. Andy knew Miranda was actually frightened by her parents’ visit, an emotion she expressed spectacularly badly. When you fed that into her emotional machinery, it came out as bitchy, bitter and impossibly hyper-critical. The night before had been the worst.  
  
When Miranda had gotten home, she’d tried to at least be civil to the children but she’d evidently aimed to treat Andy at least as rudely as she ever had as an assistant. The only difference was that she was staring at her. With those cold blue eyes boring into hers, Andy saw at once she was not beneath the woman’s notice—she was the sole object of her notice and every emotionless, curt, scathing little comment. If she hadn’t known herself and Miranda so well, Andy would have been appalled at how completely sexual this treatment felt to her and how deeply excited she was by it.  
  
She’d been right. When they’d reached their bedroom, Miranda said, “Take off your clothes and get on that bed.”  
  
Miranda had followed suit and had only climbed halfway on top of her. She hadn’t kissed her or said a word. She’d just grabbed her hair firmly in one hand and driven three fingers of her other hand quite unceremoniously into her. The woman had smirked when she felt how easy this was, as Andy was incredibly wet. And then she’d just fucked her—fucked her harder than she’d ever been fucked in her life. It was nearly painful but Andy found herself spreading her legs wider and bending one knee so it could be harder still. When she did this, Miranda hissed, “Don’t you dare come. Do you hear me?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
How long it went on, Andy had no idea. She closed her eyes, completely lost in the physicality of it. Because Miranda was holding her still by her hair, the rest of her body couldn’t even move in the tempo of it to lessen the shock of the thrusting. It was all centered in the center of her. And then it stopped—her eyes flew open.  
  
“Turn over. We’re not done. You know what I want, don’t you?”  
  
Andy nodded, turned over and drew her knees up so that her ass was in the air. Miranda ran her hand over Andy’s ass and then between her legs, dipping her fingers in the moisture there and circling the smaller opening. This was an intimacy they rarely indulged in although they both enjoyed it because it was about as exposed as Andy could feel.  
  
“I’m going to fuck you here. And you want that, don’t you, Andrea?”  
  
The sheets felt cool against Andy’s flaming face. “Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“Say please.”  
  
She raised her ass higher in the air, “Please, Miranda.”  
  
She groaned as she felt Miranda push one finger gently into her, sliding it in and out, and then very slowly adding another. No matter what else was going on with them, Miranda was extraordinarily gentle with this touch, even when Andy begged her not to be.  
  
As Miranda began to move deeper and deeper inside her, Andy clutched the sheets with her hands, “OhmyGod...that’s so good.”  
  
It was such a gentle steady rhythm….and then Andy felt Miranda’s other hand move down and suddenly she was filled again and that hand wasn’t gentle. It was as hard, or harder, than it had been before. Filled in two places, Andy felt like Miranda was pushing and pulling her from one hand onto the other and back, again and again. It was all connected, this combination of hard and soft and slow and fast. She felt tears leaking from her eyes…it was overwhelming. There was no destination—no climax to work for. There was nothing but this. She closed her eyes again and let Miranda and those two places in her body become everything. Again, she lost all sense of time before Miranda said, and it sounded like it was from far away, “You may come now, Andrea.”  
  
Andy wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Miranda suddenly changed the rhythm so subtly that her climax was upon her before she could feel it build. She buried her face in the sheets so the children wouldn’t hear her crying out as her climax went on and on. When it was finally over, she felt Miranda withdraw from her and she collapsed on the bed, breathing hard, completely undone.  
  
After she recovered for a couple of minutes, she turned over, saying “Jesus Christ, Miranda, that was—“  
  
The look on Miranda’s face ended that sentence. The woman looked as miserable, as forlorn as Andy had ever seen her. Andy sat up immediately and touched Miranda’s face, “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”  
  
There was no answer except the tears that filled the woman’s eyes.  
  
“Oh no. Don’t cry. What’s wrong? Please tell me.”  
  
Miranda just stared at her as if she were an idiot and the tears ran down her cheeks.  
  
 _Oh._ Well, of course. That had been the point of what they’d just done, hadn’t it?  
  
Andy took her into her arms and rocked her. “Shhh…I’m completely yours. Completely.  Nothing’s changing, honey. My family will come and they’ll go and I’ll still be right here. No need to be scared about that.”  
  
She heard a muffled, “I didn’t say I was scared.”  Andy grinned despite herself, “I know that. I was just telling you.”  
  
She pulled out of their hug and wiped Miranda’s cheeks with her hands. “You know what you need?”  
  
There was a small shake of the head. “No. Do I ever?”  
  
“Well, I do. On your tummy, sweetie.”  
  
As Miranda complied, Andy began what was another one of their rare intimacies. She’d discovered it one night when Miranda had been exhausted and cranky and had definitely not wanted to make love. Andy had made her undress and lie on her stomach but she hadn’t given her a massage. She touched her lightly, so lightly sometimes she was sure Miranda could only feel the heat of her hand. She also kissed her very, very lightly everywhere.  
  
There was nothing at all sexual about it so she was surprised to hear Miranda sighing, continually, in a way she’d never heard. A new sound—the sort of contented sound you made when you found something unexpectedly and completely pleasing and relaxing. Andy was pretty sure Miranda didn’t even realize she was making the sounds, so she kept completely silent as she worked over the woman’s back.  
  
Without words, she gently tapped Miranda and the woman turned over, closing her eyes. Andy started with her brow and lightly caressed her and kissed her down the length of her body. Even the touches on her breasts were completely non-sexual and Miranda continued to make those satisfied little sighs. When she had finished, Miranda said quietly, “Please, Andy. Your mouth.”  
  
Andy willingly complied and was surprised to find Miranda wetter than she’d ever seen her. She decided to use the same touch with this part of her body and she gently kissed and licked her without making any attempt to help Miranda climax. But climax she did and quite powerfully. And this moved Andy deeply, to know that Miranda could find such intense pleasure in the act of relaxing and, basically, just being sweetly petted over. When she hugged Miranda afterwards, however, she knew better than to say a word.

* * *

It worked just as well this time, as Andy had known it would. And again, when she took Miranda in her arms, she kissed her and they said nothing more about what had just happened between them or why. Andy knew they never would because the flip side of possessiveness was neediness. Miranda could need but not be needy. It was the difference between wanting and weakness to her. That Miranda trusted her enough to display that weakness, in her own way, was always infinitely precious to Andy. That Miranda would never speak of it did not surprise Andy at all.

* * *

When Richard and Sam returned, Andy met them in the hall, gave them the thumbs up sign and both of the men’s shoulders dropped in relief.  
  
“Where’s your mother?”  
  
“Upstairs taking a nap, daddy. I wore her out. She said for you to wake her up.”  
  
“Well, good for you—we’ll be down in just a bit.”  
  
They watched their father ascend the stairs before Sam said, “Spill it. How’d it go?”  
  
“Fine. She was really pretty cool about it—”  
  
“Thank God for—“  
  
“Until I told her about our sex life.”  
  
Sam gaped at her, “You what?”  
  
“You heard me—and it probably scarred her for life but it shut her up about that stupid _Post_ picture.”  
  
“Yeah—I never got why that bugged her so much. I thought it was pretty hot.”  
  
“I did, too, and I told her why. Which is why she’s scarred for life.”  
  
Sam whistled, “Dude. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”  
  
“Nope. Entirely too many flies for me today, Sammy.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Never mind. Want a soda?”

After they’d gathered again, they spent some pleasant time catching up before they heard the door open and had trooped out into the hall to see Caroline, Cassidy and Patricia enter followed by a frazzled-looking John.  
  
“Hi, John.” She put her hands on the twin’s shoulders to push past them to kiss John on the cheek, something that made the girls roll their eyes.  
  
“Oh yeah—and you two guys are here, too. Welcome home—it’s been hours.”  
  
Cassidy said, “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and introduce us Andy. You can’t avoid it forever.”  
  
Andy laughed and made the introductions, including Patricia. “John always loves it when he gets to pick up the girls from piano and Patricia from doggy daycare.”  
  
“Oh yeah—we went to get ice cream before Patricia, so I’m going to need a hazmat team in my back seat.”  
  
The adults made small talk and the girls watched them politely but warily.  
  
“You know we’re making dinner for you tonight,” Caroline finally offered.  
  
Richard smiled at her, “We heard that. We’re looking forward to it. Do you like cooking.”  
  
Caroline considered this, “We like it okay. I mean, we’re really happy to cook for you guys but generally, it’s sort of Andy’s idea of a team-building exercise.”  
  
John snickered and Cassidy giggled at this as Andy’s mouth dropped open. She waved her hand at them, “You’ll thank me in college—when you don’t have Magdalena or me to push around.”  
  
Cassidy shrugged, “We’ll always have you to push around.”  
  
“True dat. John—want to join us for some coffee or tea or a gallon of whiskey?”  
  
“No, thanks. Cecelia’s making dinner for me and I have to bolster her efforts in that department.”  
  
After they said polite goodbyes, Sam said as he was petting Patricia, “Andy tells me you guys have some cool video games. Can I see them?”  
  
“Sure,” Cassidy shrugged, “Let’s go.”  
  
“What system do you guys have?”  
  
“We have them all—because we’re spoiled brats. Right Andy?”  
  
“That’s right, Cassidy. But hold up. Family conference for a second.”  
  
Everyone looked at her—oh yeah. Which family? She snapped her fingers, “Caroline and Cassidy, over here in the study.” Smiling weakly at her parents and her brother, she said, “Be right back.”  
  
After she’d followed the girls into the study and closed the door, she hissed, “What the hell are you two doing? What’s all this,” she mimicked their voices, “spoiled team-building bullshit?”  
  
“Language, Andy.”  
  
“Shut up, Caroline. Tell me. Are you trying to make them think you don’t like me? Or do you not like me and this is your way of telling me and messing me up with my parents?”   
  
They were both looking down at the floor now.  
  
“We love you, Andy,” Cassidy said. Caroline nodded and looked up, her blue eyes filling with tears, “We’re just really nervous.”  
  
Andy took a deep breath. Yes, they were Priestlys. The best way to express your love and anxiety was to take it out on the loved one.  
  
“C’mere,” she said, pulling them both into a hug. “No need to worry at all. As Cassidy said, you’ll have me to kick around forever. But try not to kick my ass in front of my parents okay? Can you do that for me?”  
  
They nodded.  
  
“Just act normally.”  
  
“Mom won’t act normally.”  
  
“I’ll handle your mom. You handle yourselves. Will you do that for me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Thank you—and I love you, too.”  
  
When they re-emerged, the girls were holding Andy’s hands before Cassidy pulled away gently and said, “Let’s go, Sam—we’ll show you our stuff. We have about 30 minutes before we have to start cooking.”  
  
“Cool beans.”  
  
Richard said, as they departed, “They seem like…nice girls.”  
  
Andy snorted, “No they don’t. But you’ll see. They can be. Glass of wine time.” 

Andy went into a bathroom a few minutes later to call Miranda with a brief report on the day. Although the woman only said quite nonchalantly, “I’m pleased you had a good discussion, Andrea,” Andy knew her well enough to almost feel the relief flooding over the phone. She smiled as she ended the call. They’d have a different Miranda tonight.

* * *

Later, as Miranda returned from work and walked into the kitchen, she found Patricia asleep on the floor, the Sachs’ clan sitting at the table sipping glasses of wine, and Caroline, Cassidy and Andy cooking.  
  
“Good evening, Richard, Audrey, Samuel. I hope you had a nice day catching up.”  
  
After they greeted her and assured her they had, Miranda stooped and patted Patricia’s prostrate form, “I’m so sorry they made you taste it first, dear.”   
  
She crossed the kitchen and said, “How are my favorite girls?” She kissed each child’s head, then put her hand on Andy’s hip in exactly the same place as in the _Post_ picture and kissed her on the back of the head, which made Andy spritz out a laugh. She wiped her hands, turned and kissed the woman soundly on the lips. “You’re so bad.”  
  
“Whatever could you be talking about?” Miranda was all innocence but her eyes were sparkling.  
  
“Nothing, naturally, sweetie. You’re such a sight for sore eyes. Like all that alliteration?”  
  
Miranda nodded as she adjusted to everything she was hearing and seeing. The younger woman leaned against the counter, with a loving and fond expression on her face. “Yes. It’s your favorite sweatshirt as your punishment. Yes, that’s Philip Glass on the sound system and yes, beets are part of the menu tonight.”  
  
Miranda sighed, “I won’t even address the sweatshirt but I must say yet again—I love Philip Glass. I know him, for God’s sake, but you can’t cook to him. That repetition he’s so fond of? Someone will lose a finger cutting anything to that. And beets are indelible stains waiting to happen.”   
  
Andy didn’t even blink, “Uh huh. Okay. How about I put on some Bach and we throw the beets into our mouths tonight and not on our clothes? Speaking of clothes—go get into something more casual and I’ll pour a glass of wine for you.”  
  
As Miranda turned and faced the Sachs, she said, “Excuse me for a few minutes. This is part of Andrea’s improvement regimen for me. She believes if I dress more casually, I’m more relaxed and act so.”  
  
The twins and Andrea nodded vigorously behind her back.  
  
“I felt that,” Miranda tossed over her shoulder as she left the room.  
  
“So, Bach, huh?” Caroline said, eyeing Andy.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay. I’m on it.”  
  
Andy waved a knife playfully at both the girls, “If you guys love me at all, I hope you know it means my life if we spill one beet tonight. I mean, like, I’m going to be keel-hauled or walking down the damned gangplank.”  
  
“Language, Andy.”  
  
“Thank you, Caroline.”  
  
As Caroline left the room, Andy faux-whispered loudly to Cassidy, “I’m so serious about the beets.”  
  
Cassidy grinned and shoulder bumped her, short as she was, “I know, right? I’m not laughing.”

* * *

Miranda returned minutes later in her version of jeans—and a white blouse.  Andy took one look at that white and scowled because she knew the woman had worn it because of the beets. Their eyes met and Miranda looked so pleased with herself that Andy sighed and shook her head, then kissed her on the cheek. They were nearly ready to serve dinner when Patricia’s head popped up as they heard a door open.  
  
“Ah, that will be Martha with the book. I told production to finish it early so we wouldn’t have to interrupt whatever we were doing later.” She raised her voice, “Martha!”  
  
A few seconds later, Martha bounced in smiling and said, “Hello, everyone. Yes, Miranda? Your book is on the table.”  
  
“I wanted you to meet Andy’s family since you made so many of the arrangements for their stay.”  
  
Andy, Caroline and Cassidy tried to keep the shock off their faces but Martha acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Miranda to do. She introduced herself and said she hoped they were enjoying themselves.  
  
Miranda took a sip of wine before saying, “I also thought they might like to meet another second assistant. You remember Andrea used to be a second assistant.”  
  
“Oh yes. Emily and Andrea have told me.”  
  
Andy and the children began to brace themselves because when they had no idea what Miranda was up to, it usually went south pretty quickly.  
  
“She’s told them so much about working for me. Why don’t you tell them what you think of the job.”  
  
Martha laughed, “Oh? Really?”  
  
“Of course. Be as honest as you like.”  
  
Martha beamed, “It’s a very good job. I laugh all day long every day.”  
  
Andy’s eyes were saucers, “You laugh?”  
  
Sam said, “Wait a second—I don’t mean to interrupt but was that you Miranda was talking to at lunch today?”  
  
“Oh yes. I hung up the phone and laughed so hard.”  
  
Andy seemed to be stuck, “You laugh?”  
  
“Of course! It is like—you have seen those movies with…what is it…” she thought for a moment, “Oh yes! The Godzilla?”  
  
Everyone nodded.  
  
“It is like that every day.”  
  
Miranda’s voice was dry, “I suppose I’d be cast as Godzilla.”  
  
Martha giggled, “Of course. So—it is good every day. It is like the Godzilla is coming to _Runway_ ,” Martha made faux-stomping motions with her feet, “and everyone begins to run all over with their faces like,” she mimicked horror and shock, “So funny.”  
  
Andy was still stuck. “You laugh?”  
  
“Of course. Because the Godzilla? Nobody knew what the Godzilla wanted—it just stomped things and breathed fire. Miranda tells you exactly what she wants. When you do it, no more stomping and breathing fire.” She shrugged and smiled, “It’s so easy!”  
  
“Thank you, Martha. That’s all.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda. But I must remind you that Lagerfeld is at nine on Monday.”  
  
“Speaking of that…”  
  
“No, Miranda. You cannot push Lagerfeld back. He must be on a plane for Paris two hours later and will be there for three weeks. The sea? I will push that back for you on Monday if you ask. I cannot push back Lagerfeld. Unless you want to meet three weeks from now. I could do that.”  
  
Miranda’s mouth twitched, “Very well. Nine o’clock. Is that all?”  
  
Martha giggled, “Yes. That’s all.”  
  
“Goodnight Martha.”  
  
“Goodnight, Miranda. Nice to meet you all.”  
  
And with that, Martha was gone.   
  
Naturally, the Sachs family didn’t quite know what to make of this but for Andy and the girls, it felt like the world had tilted on its axis.  
  
Miranda smiled at the Sachs family, “I hope you noticed that merely being in my presence made my second assistant nearly gelatinous with fear and trembling.”  
  
They nodded as Miranda tapped Andy gently on the nose with her forefinger, “And that, my darling, is how it’s done. Evidently.”

* * *

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Dinner was relatively pleasant. The presence of the children was, of course, the critical factor in its success. Andy was aware that no one knew this better than Caroline and Cassidy. Having been raised to eat during the beginning or even during the middle of pitched battles between people who were acting ferociously polite, they kept their impeccable game faces. They were hyper-talkative and hyper-interested in their guests, which made Andy’s heart ache.  
  
Being so well versed in this sort of thing wasn’t fair to them and although she knew there would be no real hostility, the children couldn’t know that. Her parents were also a bit brittle and a little too accommodating because they were nervous. All in all, not the best digestive. The only truly happy thing for her was that all of the beets had stayed on plates or in mouths. She was the only one who’d had a close call, which was the closest Miranda came to a real laugh during the evening.  
  
Andy couldn’t really blame her parents. She was pretty sure they hadn’t really counted on Miranda being so very Miranda and she knew even Martha’s laughter had done little to assuage their anxiety. They’d probably imagined a meeting with some version of a paper dragon and had, instead, found a real dragon—a person it was reasonable to fear.   
  
When the girls and Andy had cleared the table, the Sachs thanked the girls for the meal.  
  
“We’re glad you liked it—but you’ll like the barbecue tomorrow even better.”   
  
Cassidy nudged Caroline, who continued, “Yeah, Maggie cooks lots better than we do.”   
  
Richard smiled and said, “I can’t imagine that’s true,” then to Andy, “We’ve heard you mention a party. A barbecue, huh?”  
  
“Yep. Really low-key so we can just hang out. Doug and Lily are coming and—“  
  
Audrey interjected, “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve missed them so much.”   
  
“Oh yeah. They can’t wait to see you either. The Castillos are also coming. They’re family friends and you’ll like them. They have a son our girls’ age. And I think Serena and Em and Nigel are coming, aren’t they, Miranda?”  
  
“They’ve confirmed, although honestly Andrea? I don’t know what you were thinking. It’s been giving Emily a slow onset heart attack all week.”  
  
Audrey’s eyes widened, “Emily? Real Emily? _The_ Emily?”  
  
“Yes, Audrey. My only actual Emily—and if you repeat that to her, children, heads will roll.”  
  
Caroline and Cassidy snickered as they hugged their mother and Andy. Cassidy surprised Andy by putting her hand on her cheek and saying, “We love you and we’re sorry we were brats today.”  
  
Andy pulled her into a hug and said, “No problem. I’m a brat from hell half the time I’m awake.”  
  
“Yeah, we know. And language, Andy”  
  
Andy sighed—the kid was never going to leave it alone. “Thank you Caroline.”  
  
After they’d said polite goodnights, the adults were left alone.  
  
Audrey took up the thread. “For some reason, I can’t believe I’ll get to meet the real Emily. She seems almost—”  
  
“Mythical.” Andy finished for her as she took a sip of wine. “She sort of is—just like her boss.”  
  
“Please, Andrea. If you’re going to be hyperbolic, use better subjects.”  
  
Sam snorted and said, “Better than you? Where? Who?”  
  
Miranda answered with a smile and, “More wine, Samuel?”  
  
“Please.” As she poured more for the family, Sam said, “Please tell me more about Emily and Serena.”  
  
Andy laughed, “Sorry, baby boy—they’re both knockouts but they’re knocked out together.”  
  
Sam slapped his forehead, “Damn it! What are they putting in the water at _Runway_?”  
  
“I know, right?” Andy giggled and Miranda decided not to pour her love another glass of wine.  
  
As she placed the bottle on the table, she smiled at the Sachs family and said, “Well. Shall we get down to business?”  
  
“What do you mean, Miranda?”  
  
Andy’s pleasant buzz vaporized at her mother’s cool tone.  
  
“Nothing unpleasant, Audrey, I assure you. I know your appearance in our home means you have questions to ask and I know that you’ve found the answers to some of them with Andrea. I’m saying I’m willing to answer the questions you have for me.” She looked at four stunned faces, “Am I wrong? You have no questions for the 50 year old woman living with your 25 year old daughter?”  
     
Andy felt a chill in her stomach. “Miranda. Please don’t—“  
  
“Andrea? Stop.” Miranda looked at her and ran a thumb over her cheek. “Do you trust me?”  
  
Andy hesitated, then nodded.  
  
“Then stop. This is their turn to speak—not yours. I promise I’ll play nicely. Alright?” She took Andy’s hand as the young woman nodded again.  
  
She turned back to the family. “What do you want to ask me?”  
  
There was a long silence and Miranda finally offered, “I see. An impasse. Alright. Let me do this. Perhaps, as any sane family would, you’ll want to know my intentions toward your daughter?”  
  
Richard chuckled and then admitted nervously, “You know what? You’re good.”  
  
“I know I am. Are my intentions something you want to hear?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Audrey said.  
  
“Very well. Here they are. I intend to live with Andrea and raise our children together and help them all live happy, productive lives for the rest of my life. Obviously not theirs.”  
  
Andy tried to drag her hand away from Miranda’s. “I hate it when you say things like that.”  
  
Miranda pulled Andy’s hand back into her lap, “I apologize. Andrea doesn’t like being reminded of our age difference in regard to the probability of my pre-deceasing her, which would be entirely natural and I profoundly hope will be the case. I can’t ignore it, as she’d prefer to, because I have minor children and a much younger partner. We’ve taken care of all of it legally. When she says this is our home, she means it. It legally belongs to both of us. Should I die before she does, my estate is equally split between her and our children and she and John and Cecelia will share custody of the twins.”  
  
She took a sip of wine and continued, “However, should she leave me, for whatever reason, I will make a lump sum payment of a quite substantial amount to assist her in starting whatever new life she chooses to make. That’s something we argued about and she most certainly didn’t want but it was non-negotiable for me. She will never be held in a velvet cage. She’ll stay with me because she wants to and she’ll have a platinum parachute if she doesn’t. The upshot? I want to make a life with her and support her in every goal she has, whatever it is, whether it involves her career or even more children. What she wants in life she will have if it’s in my power to give or assist her in getting for herself.”  
  
Sam exhaled a quiet, “Holy shit.” He looked around and said, “Sorry but that was cool.”  
  
Richard took a deep breath, glanced at his wife and said, “That’s enough for me.”  
  
Audrey smiled. Finally, Andy saw a real smile from her mom, “You’re really in love with my baby, aren’t you?”  
  
“Mother to mother? Yes. She’s completely safe with me. And always will be. Can we close on that note? I’d like to look over the book so that I have the rest of our weekend free.”  
  
She stood and ran a hand over Andy’s hair, “I look forward to our time together and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”  
  
“I’ll be up in just a bit, sweetheart.”  
  
Miranda smiled down at her, “Take your time—enjoy your visit.”  
  
“You have 45 minutes, Priestly. Make ‘em count.”  
  
They all said their goodnights but, as Miranda left the room, Audrey whispered, “Is that really necessary? It’s Friday night.”  
  
Andy poured herself a half-glass of wine. “Well, like she said, she wants it off her mind. But yeah—Monday through Thursday usually end at about 12:30. She gets up at 5:30 sharp nearly every working morning.”  
  
“But that’s insane.”  
  
Andy shrugged, “I agree but that’s what it takes to be her.”  

* * *

After more pleasant chat, the Sachs said goodnight and as Andy was climbing the stairs, she was congratulating Miranda and her family on a day well done. No explosions—it had almost been like they were real people. Upon opening the door to their bedroom, however, her heart sank. Miranda was sitting on the chair by their bed wearing a grim, determined expression and what Andy privately called the Robe of Doom, that damned robe Miranda had been wearing in Paris and which she only seemed to pull out when something dire was happening. She’d pointed this out to Miranda numerous times, but the woman had always only said, “Nonsense,” which had been the end of that.  
  
She closed the door and crossed the room quickly, kneeling in front of Miranda, placing her hands on the woman’s knees. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”  
  
Miranda’s expression solidified into the entirely inscrutable. Oh shit. Damage control and, as usual, she first had to solve the mystery of the damage.  
  
She gently stroked Miranda’s knees and smiled up at her kindly, “I thought everything went great today—and the girls were fantastic. Didn’t you think so?”  
  
Miranda glared at her and something changed in her eyes. She looked down and started to gently pick at the fabric in her robe. Okay, Andy thought. One answer. Miranda was nervous.   
  
“Can you tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart? Because I can see something’s wrong.”  
  
Miranda glared at her again and took a deep breath. “I wanted to say something to you…or tell…or ask something and then your family was coming and it would be entirely ludicrous to say anything when they might change everything.” Her voice became scathing, “Why on Earth would I ask something the answer of which might be predicated upon the whim of your parents? Do you think I’m a fool?”  
  
Andy’s eyes widened. She thought for about ten seconds, then translated. “First thing’s first? No—you’re not a fool. But let me try to decode this. You’re telling me that you wanted to say something to me but you thought my parents might change what you’d said in some way, right?”  
  
Miranda gave about the slightest nod of assent she could, which was really saying something, Andy thought.  
  
Andy continued to rub soft circles on Miranda’s legs. “Okay. We’ve got that straightened out. What did you want to say, angel?”  
  
Miranda reached behind her and pulled out a square box. A Cartier box. She handed it to Andy as if she were passing her the salt at the dinner table.  
  
Andy felt her heart run triple-time. Okayokayokayokay.  
  
“What’s this,” she managed to warble out. Wow. Andy had rarely received a more withering look from Miranda, which was again saying something.  
  
Andy held the box in her hand, scarcely believing what it might hold inside, considering the look she was getting from the woman giving it to her. “Is this what I think it is?”  
  
“I have no idea, Andrea. You haven’t opened it. Why not use your investigative journalistic acumen and enlighten me?”  
  
Andy fought a surge of purely pissed off and the urge to roll her eyes and opened the box. Her jaw dropped. Yep. That was an engagement ring, alright.  
  
“Holy sh…excuse me. I’m sorry. That’s…Miranda? You could marry, like, fifteen girls with this ring.”  
  
“Fifteen? Spare me. I can barely keep up with one.”  
  
Andy stared at the ring. God only knew how many carats the middle stone was but any of the diamonds surrounding it would have been larger than any engagement ring she’d ever expected.  
  
“It’s gorgeous.” Andy chuckled anxiously, then smacked her forehead. “Of course it is. It’s from you.”  
  
Miranda thawed nearly imperceptibly but leaned forward, “You’ll notice that the main stone is paved with others, so that it has a nearly perfectly smooth surface. If I’d given you a solitaire you would have stabbed my eye out at some point and picked my clothing every time you touched me.”  
  
Now Andy did roll her eyes, “Leave it to you to be slightly insulting describing my engagement ring.”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Well what?”  
  
“I believe it’s customary to give some sort of answer at this point, is it not?”  
  
“Yes, darling. But you haven’t asked me anything I can answer, have you?”  
  
And then, despite herself, she began to laugh. She watched Miranda immediately draw farther into herself and Andy hastened to add, “This is perfect! So perfect.”  
  
“If you think this is funny, perhaps we should forget it. It’s obviously becoming farcical to you which is the antithesis of romance—or something like that surely.”  
  
“Nope. Stop it. No take backs. What’s perfect is this. Don’t tell me it isn’t a little funny that your former second assistant is kneeling down asking you whether you’re asking her to marry you. C’mon. Even you can see it. Isn’t it just a little bit funny?”  
  
Miranda almost smiled even as she stared for a long few moments.  
  
She took Andy’s hand. “I don’t care how we do it. We can go to a state that will accept us, a country that will marry us or we can just do it here at home. The ceremony doesn’t matter. The sentiment does. Please marry me, Andy.”  
  
“On one condition.”  
  
Miranda sighed, “I knew it. Here we go.”  
  
“Stop it. You’re impossible.” She reached up and cupped Miranda’s cheek in her hand, “I’m only getting married once. Put this ring on my finger and that’s it. No separations, no divorce. Til death do us part. If that’s what you want, put it on my finger and the answer is yes.”  
  
Miranda slipped it on her finger and smiled. A real smile. Andy climbed into her lap. “Are we the luckiest girls or what?”  
  
“Debatable—because I certainly can’t call myself a girl anymore.”  
  
“You’re my girl.” She kissed her and Miranda pulled away from her.  
  
“I’m serious, Andy. I’m not a girl. I’m a much older woman asking you for what—“  
  
“What I want? Thank God you’re older or it might have taken us years. Because you know it’d have to be you to ask.”  
  
Miranda pulled further away. “You could have asked.”  
  
Andy kissed her on the forehead. “No no. You had to be the one to ask and you know it.”  
  
Before the woman could dispute this, she said “No.” She ran her fingers through Miranda’s white hair. “It was not my place to ask and you know it. If the reasons we both know that seem archaic? Fuck ‘em. Maybe they are but I don’t care. I truly don’t care what people think. You’re offering me more than I could possibly offer you.”  
  
“Only financially.”  
  
Andy laughed but it was sweet. “Let’s see. Finance. Power. Children. A home. Nearly everything. Let’s not pretend it’s not true, okay?”  
  
Miranda’s eyes darkened but she said, “Okay.”  
  
“I am the recipient of your proposal, am I not?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So, despite the obvious inequalities I’ve just stated, I’m not nervous. We’ll still be marrying because we’re equals. We’re equally in love, aren’t we?”  
  
“We are.”  
  
“There you go.”  
  
“So we’re engaged?”  
  
“Not ‘til you take me to bed. You have to make me yours. I’m old-fashioned that way.”  
  
Miranda’s face immediately darkened again, “Yes…well. I’m sorry about that. About last night.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? I’m not. I’m exactly as sore today as you intended for me to be. I couldn’t think of anything but you every time I moved today. Tonight, though? Gentle and slow wins the race. Can you do that?”  
  
“You know I can. Happily,” Miranda said as she hugged her. As she pulled away, she was suddenly beaming, “You realize this robe I’m wearing is now our engagement robe and we can’t throw it away.”  
  
Andy snorted and beamed back at her, “And this sweatshirt is now our engagement sweatshirt!”  
  
Miranda allowed herself a rare profanity, “Motherfucker!” She composed herself. “Fine. We’ll put the robe and your sweatshirt in your closet of shame.”  
  
“See? We’re going to be so happy together.”  
  
“Why? Because we can put clothing in your personal nuclear landfill?”  
  
“Oh, shut up. Look at my ring—isn’t it pretty?”  
  
Andy felt a completely joyful feeling, Miranda finally, finally relaxing. The woman shrugged, took her hand and looked at the ring. “It’s pretty enough but it’s prettier on you.” She buried her forehead in Andy’s shoulder and whispered, “Everything is.”

* * *

The next morning Andy bounced down into the kitchen and found the girls and Sam munching cereal. She slapped her left hand down on the table and said, “Read ‘em and weep, kiddos!”  
  
Sam nearly snorted cereal through his nose, then leapt up and hugged her, saying, “Dude—you could marry a billion girls with that.”  
  
“I know, right? Just what I said.”  
  
They both looked at the girls, who were completely nonplussed.  
  
“About time,” Cassidy said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You guys knew?”  
  
Caroline sighed, “Mom told us she was gonna ask but we knew even before that—a long time before that. You guys are so slow on the uptake.”  
  
Cassidy assented, “Yeah. It’s like watching a movie you’ve already seen, only at at half-speed.”  
  
Andy’s high spirits were suddenly crushed and she didn’t care if it wasn’t quite appropriate to ask. “You mean because I’m like your mom was with Stephen?”  
  
The girls both sighed but Cassidy said, “No. You’re not Stephen. You’re just so obvious, Andy.”  
  
Andy’s heart felt sort of pulpy hearing this and her brother tightened his grip on her shoulder.  
  
“Obviously right,” Caroline added.  
  
“Yeah.” Cassidy grinned up at her. “You’re right. For her. Even for us, we think.”  
  
Caroline glared at Andy and waved her spoon at her like a teacher’s ruler, “That’s enough of the mushy stuff and don’t even think about crying. It’s boring and I’m hungry.” She dipped into her cereal and ignored Andy. 

* * *

When Andy’s parents came down to breakfast, they were just about as startled as she’d thought they’d be. The ring itself was a showstopper and the meaning behind it wasn’t all that far behind it in her ‘oh my God, I hope this goes okay’ category.  
  
Her father had goggled at it and said, “Good God!” as he hugged her. But Andy watched various emotions flicker through her mother’s eyes and identified some of them as pain and concern before the woman said, “Congratulations, sweetie. It’s beautiful.” The weight of ten thousand worlds fell off Andy’s shoulders as she smiled and was embarrassed to hear herself giggling before she said, “Of course it is—it’s Miranda’s.”  
  
Miranda, who had a preternatural ability to make a timely entrance said, “What’s mine, Andrea?”  
  
Andy looked at her shyly. Even after living with her and watching her like a hawk, she still had no idea what alchemy made Miranda, when she chose to, look like a million bucks and as if she’d been up for hours when everyone around her was pajama-clad and frowzy with sleep.  
  
“Hi, sweetheart. I was just saying the ring is yours. I’m yours.”  
  
“Ridiculous. The ring is yours, as am I. Your acceptance of our betrothal is an honor you’ve bestowed upon me. That’s what it means.” She glanced at the Sachs, “I hope you slept well.”  
  
Although they were reeling from the topic change, they assured her they had as  Miranda interrupted and said, “Andrea? Is a cup of coffee completely out of the question now that you’re my fiancée?”  
  
Andy snorted and kissed Miranda on the cheek, “Not at all. On it, boss.”

* * *

“So? What would you like to do today? We have a limited amount of time because we have the party that’s starting at four. Regardless? New York is yours for the taking. I’m sorry to be so gauche as to say I mean that literally.”  
  
Andy patted Miranda on the hand and was surprised to hear Caroline pipe up first. “I want to go to the Met—they have that retrospective of the great photography of the 20th century. We haven’t had time to see it yet.”  
  
Sam said, “Dude, that sounds cool. Let’s do it. You up for it, Cass?”  
  
Cassidy looked at her sister for a few seconds and said, “Yes. She wants to see it so I’ll tag.”  
  
“Dad? Wanna go? That’s perfect! You love photography.” In truth, Audrey was a lousy photographer. Richard adored photography. He was, however, perhaps the worst photographer on the planet but, like all unrequited lovers, the flame never died. His eyes brightened considerably. “Sounds fantastic. Let’s do it. How about you ladies?”  
  
Audrey took a deep breath and said, “Actually, if Miranda and Andy wouldn’t mind, I’d like to see _Runway_.”  
  
That stopped them all cold. Miranda took a sip of her coffee, “You realize you’ll only see nearly empty halls.”  
  
Audrey nodded and met Miranda’s eyes without flinching, “My daughter’s agreed to marry you—and that means marrying _Runway,_ does it not? Why wouldn’t I want to meet her other suitor?”  
  
Miranda tilted her head and almost smiled. “Why not indeed. We ladies can go to _Runway_ and everyone else can go to the Met. Acceptable?”  
  
Acceptable.

* * *

Andy had known, and was not disappointed, when she saw that Miranda had chosen not fashion forward but fashion ferocious for the visit. Andy had chosen something a little less daunting so as not to make her mother feel badly. Her mother looked perfectly lovely but she was not _Runway_ and she wanted to sort of smack Miranda for making that point.  
  
But that was the woman she was engaged to and she really couldn’t expect anything less. The security guard raised himself to his full height as Miranda passed and she completely disregarded him. Andy thought, for about the 10,000th time what that felt like or looked like to another person, a person like her mother. She remembered what it had once looked like to her. Callous, cold, a complete dismissal of another human being. Which was what Miranda did. What she was. And still she loved her. She looked at the ring on her hand, a tether to what only a few people were privileged to see. It was a connection to what was true about Miranda. As they moved up in the elevator, an elevator that should have been Miranda’s alone, she knew both things were true. Miranda was what she was at _Runway_. And she was what she was with her. Andy had to accept both of them. She had. She lifted her head with pride and stepped into _Runway_ , a mistress her future wife had created for herself.  One she’d always have to embrace.  
  
She had.

* * *

At that same moment, Roy picked up Mary Washington, as he’d been instructed. He hadn’t been told much more than the fact that she’d be going to the opening of a new Boys and Girls club room in her son’s honor. He remembered the story of her and her son’s death, because he always followed Andy’s stories. He counted on it being a rather long trip for both of them.  
  
He hadn’t counted on her being so very beautiful and stoic in the back of his car. She was anxious, he could tell, looking back at her through his rear-view mirror.  
  
“Mr. Roy?”  
  
“Roy, ma’am. My name is Roy Connolly, but please call me Roy.”  
  
“Irish, are you?”  
  
Roy smiled and answered, “Yes, ma’am. At least my da was—and I have no proof otherwise.”  
  
She smiled and said, “Call me Mary.”  
  
He smiled into the mirror, “Thank you. I will.”  
  
“Can you tell me whose car I’m in, Roy?”  
  
“Miranda Priestly’s, Mary.”  
  
Mary took this in for a few moments and smiled. “I’m not blind—I see the tabloids about Andy and Miranda. I assume it’s true?”  
  
Roy replied guardedly but firmly, “They are who they are. I have to tell you I won’t take nay-saying about either of them from my passengers because I’m quite fond of both of them. Say what you will about them but, if it’s negative, I’ll be the silent driver from then on. You might like that better, to tell the truth.”  
  
He watched as Mary took this in. “I have nothing negative to say about Andy. And it’s Miranda who’s underwritten my son’s legacy, isn’t it?”  
  
Roy hesitated before saying, “Yes. She’s more sensitive than people think. And please never quote me on that.”  
  
Mary grinned, “I won’t. I promise. And if Andy sees something in her, there must be something to see.”  
   
“I can only say there’s never a dull day. She’s a…mercurial woman but I’d do anything for her. Including drive.” He grinned back at her, then asked, “What do you do for a living, Mary?”  
  
“I’m a high school English teacher.”  
  
“Really? Isn’t that lovely? My favorite subject in school.”  
  
“Was it?”  
  
“You’d better believe it! But my da wanted me outside playing stickball or starting fights, you know? He was an old-school gent himself and thought a boy’s job was to be out in the streets and it was the Bronx. He didn’t like seeing me with my nose in a book.”  
  
“What was your favorite book when you were a child?”  
  
“Dickens! David Copperfield.”  
  
“A wonderful choice.”  
  
“I think so, too. It was always another world for me, if you get my point and I must say I sometimes needed one. I still keep it by my bedside and dip into it now and again—just to refresh myself.”  
  
He saw her smile in the mirror. “I still dip into it, as well. How’d you get into driving, Roy? Do you enjoy it?”  
  
Roy’s flushed in embarrassment. “My da told me no use going to university because all I was good for was…well, you see. Not much. I’m a driver.”  
  
“I mean no disrespect but your father was wrong to limit you in that way. And there’s no shame in being a driver, Roy. Never think that.”  
  
As he guided them to the Boys and Girls Club and they’d parked, Mary surprised him by asking, “Would you mind escorting me in?”  
  
He thought for one moment and said, “No. I’d be honored, ma’am.”  
  
Jumping out of the car, he offered his arm to her, which she took with a smile. “What a gentleman.”  
  
He found the courage to wink at her, “It’s my job.”  
  
She patted his arm. “No. It comes naturally to you. I can tell.”  
  
When they entered the building, a giddy young woman came forward, “Ms. Washington?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m Sara Ford and I’m the volunteer coordinator for your son’s project.”  
  
After Mary had introduced herself and Roy, Sara led them down a hallway. “Naturally, if you’d wanted it, we would have had a ribbon-cutting or publicity but Emily said you didn’t seem the type to want that.”  
  
“Emily was right.”  
  
“Then it’s good—I’m very glad. You’ll see it in operation. Two days in—and I think you’ll be astonished.”  
  
And she was. Mary quickly made a count—thirty workstations, half Mac, half PC. At each one a child was working—nearly all of them had teens or adults sitting next to them.  
  
“See, we’ve had plenty of adults and teens willing to tutor kids but no money for the computers or to be honest, even a me—someone to coordinate all of it. You wouldn’t believe how amazing the response has been. Once you have the capital expense, people come running in to help.”  
  
Mary nodded but stifled a sob as she saw the fourth wall—which was an enormous canvas of her favorite picture of her son. She hadn’t understood why Emily had asked for it but had scanned and sent it and now there it was, with his name, covering the entire wall.  
  
Mary grasped Roy’s hand as she looked around, “Yes. This is perfect.”  
  
Sara’s smile was genuine. “I am so very, very glad you approve. This can’t change your loss—but look around this room. Your son is changing children’s lives.”  
  
“If you’d known my son, you’d know nothing would have pleased him more. I’ll visit again.”  
  
“And you’ll always be welcome.”  
  
As they walked back to the car, Mary said, “It’s wonderful—but a memorial makes it so real, if you understand me.”  
  
“Of course I do.”  
  
“Sometimes, Roy, I try to imagine he’s just on vacation or something like that. Not something so permanent as dead. But he is dead. He doesn’t exist in this world anymore. And I have to keep remembering that, day after day after day.”  
  
“I know that feeling, Mary. It’s…like that Emily Dickinson poem, right? After great pain, a formal feeling comes?”  
  
“This is the hour of lead,” they said at the same time.  
  
Mary laughed, and looked up at him through tears, “I am so glad you’re driving me today, Roy.”  
  
“Likewise, ma’am, I’m sure.”

* * *

Roy drove her home and as he parked to let her out he said, “Mary?”  
  
“Yes, Roy?”  
  
“If you have no person who walks with you? Barkis is willin’.”  
  
She laughed out loud. “So I’m Peggoty? I wish I were wearing an apron to throw over my face!”  
  
He beamed. Someone who really knew his favorite book. “Would you maybe like…to go to lunch sometime—next weekend, maybe?”  
  
“Of course, Roy.”  
  
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Thank God! That was easy.”  
  
Mary laughed again. “Finally. A man who admits how hard it is to ask for a date. I’m putting it down in my calendar. Did you know David Copperfield would do it?”  
  
Roy grinned, saying “I thought an orphan lad out on his own for a while had some potential but if it hadn’t worked, I’d have pulled out my twins.”  
  
“Unless you’re not telling me something, I’m assuming you’re talking about Miranda’s twins. Unless they actually are yours.”  
  
Roy’s eyes widened, “Oh no. No no no on the sire side. But yes, I’m talking about Miranda’s girls. It’s just I’ve driven them all their lives. My da was very hard, as I’ve said, but he always told me to treat every child you meet as if he or she is yours. God help me in my case but you see the point. Children are precious.”  
  
“That they are, Roy. I know too well.”  
  
A few moments went by and Roy said, “I’m sorry, Mary. I have no children of my own and I didn’t mean to give you pain.”  
  
“You didn’t, Roy. I can’t avoid talking about children for the rest of my life. And I wouldn’t even if I could, I promise you.”  
  
“Your lad is surely laughing at me from heaven now. We men always laugh when we see each other being boneheads with women.”  
  
“I like thinking of him like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“A man. I’ll never see him as a man.”  
  
“Oh, of course you can. Men just fill out and get taller after about age 13—no difference beside that. Even emotionally. Just seeing his picture I can well imagine him a man.”  
  
As they pulled up to her building, Mary said, “I don’t believe that, you know—about men.”  
  
“Oh, I promise it’s true—but I suppose you’ll see this weekend, won’t you.”  
  
“I suppose I will. Call me.” She handed him a slip of paper with her phone number on it and left the car.  
  
He took it and carefully put it in his wallet and did, indeed, feel exactly like a 13 year old boy.

* * *

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

As they passed through the doors into _Runway_ , Andy looked at the rooms and halls that had alternately terrified her and haunted her during the time she’d worked there. She wondered what her mother was seeing, taking it all in for the first time. The office was beautiful and awe-inspiring, as it was meant to be. But one of the many things Miranda had taught her, pounded into her actually, was that all vision was personal. No two people ever saw the same thing. Miranda’s job, which was actually nearly impossible, was to force millions of people to see things as she saw them. And she was terrifyingly good at just that. “Force of will, Andrea. You only need the force and the will.”  
  
“This is beautiful, Miranda.”  
  
“Thank you, Audrey. It should be. We certainly pay enough for it to be.”  
  
Miranda had evidently decided to take a cavalier tone and waved one hand, “So, this is _Runway_.” They strolled past the reception desk toward Miranda’s office. When they arrived at the desks outside her office, Miranda said, “That’s Emily’s desk, and that’s the other Emily’s desk.”  
  
“You mean Martha?”  
  
“Martha, your daughter, whoever happens to be there. Precisely.”  
  
From the look on her mother’s face, Andy knew she needed to put the brakes on hard.  
  
“Miranda?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Go sit at your desk and I’ll sit at mine.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I asked you to.” She let five seconds go by before she said, “Please.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath and crossed into her office. Audrey had no idea what was going on.  
  
As Miranda took her seat at her desk, she said, “Alright. Tell me what this is about.”  
  
“Nothing, Miranda. Act like I still work here. Call me into your office and tell me what to do.”  
  
“Emil…Em…Andrea! Get in here!”  
  
Andy stood, winked at her mom and said, perfectly placidly, “Have I made my point?”  
  
“Yes. But I don’t like you right now, Emily.”  
  
“Lucky thing you’re engaged to Andy, huh?”  
  
“I’m having second thoughts.”  
  
“Oh please. You are not. Let’s show mom the rest of the office, okay?”  
  
The office was what it was, a little scary to the layperson. A lot scary to Audrey, actually. It was exactly as Andy had described it. Absolutely another world and although she had never particularly paid any attention to this world, she had to respect the sheer size and scope of what went into it.  
  
They paused in production and Miranda showed them the layout pictures for the latest issue posted on magnetic boards against a bright white wall. Miranda drummed her fingers on the counter as she looked at the pictures and pursed her lips as she looked at one in particular.  
  
At that moment, Nigel strode in, looking almost casual for him, and said without introduction, “I already know what you’re going to say." He snapped one of the pictures off the board and slapped it on the counter. “Consider it gone.” He turned to Audrey and said, “Nigel Kipling. You must be Audrey Sachs. And now I see the source of Andy’s considerable beauty.”  
  
Audrey found him much more handsome than Andy had ever suggested, “Hello, Nigel. Andy’s told me so much about you.”  
  
“I hope it’s all been good. If she’s left out anything I’ve said or done after three cocktails, I’m a lucky man.”  
  
He leaned forward and kissed Andy, “Hello, Six.”  
  
“I know I’ll always be Six to you but I’m a Four.”  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
Andy did and Nigel looked at her fondly, “Ah, yes. The caboose is still under control. My little girl’s grown…down.”  
  
She sighed dramatically and waved her left hand at him.  
  
He gaped like a fish at the ring and looked from Miranda to Andy to Miranda again.  
  
“Miranda? No way.”  
  
Miranda flummoxed them both by saying, “Way.”  
  
He flummoxed Miranda right back by hugging her tightly and kissing both her cheeks—real kisses, not air kisses. “Good God! Well done. So we’re having an engagement party today?”  
  
Miranda, still slightly disbelieving the hugging and kissing business said, “Nonsense. It’s a…I need to—I’ll be right back.”  
  
As Miranda left the room, Nigel said, “I think I broke her. Excuse me, Audrey.”  He grabbed Andy, picked her up and spun her around, “You bagged her, baby.”  
  
As he put her down she grinned at him, “She bagged me. I’m the easy one.”  
  
He gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “No. She just met her match. I’m so happy for both of you.”  
  
“I’m so happy, too. More than happy,” Andy said as she put her head on Nigel’s shoulder and he hugged her tightly.  
  
Something about this—these people—this office—felt suddenly crushingly real to Audrey. This was Andy’s world. She realized she’d been seeing her daughter through the lens of a mother’s eyes, seeing her little girl who’d left the Midwest for the big city. She’d been seeing the past and now she was seeing the present. The present included _Runway_. Her gaze fell upon the panoply of amazing pictures on the wall.  
  
“Nigel? Can you tell me something?”  
  
“Of course I can.”  
  
“What’s wrong with the picture you took down?”  
  
He held it up to her and then showed it to Andy, who sighed. “It’s sort of a one off part of our color block section, Audrey, and it’s just too…”  
  
“Too,” Andy finished.  
  
“It’s just too too?”  
  
“Too much. It’s trying too hard.”  
  
“But she’s gorgeous. The picture’s gorgeous.”  
  
“That it is but it’s gorgeous under duress. I knew Our Lady would think so. That’s why I’m here on a Saturday. I wanted to grab it before she saw it but no such luck. She’s impossible that way.”  
  
“Who’s impossible?” Miranda asked, seeming to materialize out of thin air.  
  
Nigel pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Miranda, have I ever told you how often I’ve thought of buying you a collar with a bell on it?”  
  
“Collar and bell? By whom? Gaultier, I presume? You forget yourself, Nigel, but I’ll forgive you. After all, it is Saturday.”  
  
“Thank you, Miranda.”  
   
“Don’t be obsequious.”  
  
“Of course not, Miranda.”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
She glared at him and he smiled at her and sing-songed, “Going to the chapel and you’re gonna get married.”  
  
“Shut up. Let me see that picture.”  
  
He handed it to her and she gave it a clinical glance. “Josephine. We won’t be using her again.”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
Andy lightly chewed the inside of her cheek. Another career up in flames.  
  
Miranda glanced at her and said, “Don’t say a word.”  
  
“I didn’t.”  
  
“You were thinking it.”  
  
“Excuse me but I do get to think, Miranda.”  
  
“Not about my business decisions.”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake—of course I do. I just keep my mouth shut.”  
  
“Stop thinking so loudly, then.”  
  
Audrey and Nigel watched this interchange with rapt interest.  
  
“A person can’t think loudly, Miranda.”  
  
“Believe me—you can. I can hear the gears turning in your head.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry. I’ll oil them or something when we get home.”  
  
Miranda gave her a look that would melt lead and then slapped the picture in Nigel’s hand, “Josephine? One more chance. One.”  
  
“Done.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath and smiled at Audrey, “Let’s go see the Closet.”  
  
Andy winked at Nigel and followed them out, but not before he mouthed the word ‘whipped’ to her, which almost made her laugh out loud.

* * *

After Audrey had taken in the marvel that was the Closet and was watching her daughter fondly as Miranda showed her a few items, Nigel stepped close to her and whispered, “It took Andy a long time to understand something I think you should understand and I bet you don’t.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Do you know who that woman is? I mean, really?”  
  
“Yes, she’s the editor of _Runway_.”  
  
“Yes. That’s true. But she—and only she—is the arbiter of a 300 billion dollar a year industry. Right there. That woman who’s marrying your daughter carries it around on her shoulders every day. I don’t know you but I do remember Andy’s attitude when she joined us. Don’t ever think of discounting or belittling Miranda because you imagine her work is something whimsical or unimportant just because it’s fashion. Remember. 300 billion dollars every year. Billion with a B. And it’s all there in that one woman’s taste and eye.” He smiled gently and patted her arm. “Just a word to the wise.”

* * *

Getting ready for a party was a chore, Magdalena decided, but despite herself, she liked it. She was not one of those people who liked to loaf about and feeding three people who ate like birds had hardly been enough work to keep a fly busy. After the disaster of calling Miranda on Andy’s presence in her life, she’d warmed considerably to the girl, who certainly made her employer more human—or human-like, she thought, smiling to herself. Plus, the girl ate like a real person and had gently but firmly forced Miranda to allow the children to do the same.  
  
After the family had returned from the museum, Richard and Sam had begged her to allow them to do the dirty work of setting up the grill, placing the chairs and an awning over the table for the food, and the net for the games. Their cheerfulness encouraged the girls into a spirit of cooperation and they dutifully dragged chairs and laughed with Sam as he messed up the rigging on the awning, resulting in his wearing it twice. They were, for the most part, good children but generally as lazy as spoiled children of rich people could be. That was another thing that pleased Magdalena about Andy. She’d shamed Miranda into making the children do chores. She’d greatly enjoyed eavesdropping on that particular conversation. It had been the closest she’d ever heard of a fight between them and the most she’d ever heard Andy curse, which was very exciting as she was cursing at Miranda.  
  
 _“Do you want them to grow up to be the fucking Hilton sisters? For God’s sake! They don’t even know how to make their own beds. They’ve never shopped for groceries!”  
  
“They don’t have to do those things—Magdalena does them.”  
  
“I know that, Miranda. She also empties the trash out of their rooms and cleans their bathrooms. They have hands and brains. Why not use them?” _  
  
_“Are you suggesting that my children’s brains could best be used doing manual labor?”  
  
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m _telling _you that you’re creating two people who need servants for the basic functions of life. And yeah—maybe they’ll always have enough money to have people to do all this crap for them.  But you? I know you didn't always have money and you did all this stuff yourself because you had to. Oh and…wait for it…look how_ you _turned out. If they don’t learn to do stuff on their own and take a little pride in the basics in life, you’re asking for it—I’m_ telling _you. They should make their own beds, clean up after themselves, learn to shop and for groceries—not bling—and do their own fucking homework! And if—if you think I’m being a complete bitch, run through the Rolodex in your mind and tell me just how many of your fabulously wealthy friends have grown kids who are worth a shit.”_  
  
After a few days, in which Magdalena knew the beast was pretending she hadn’t listened to Andy, the children were presented with a list of chores. The girls weren’t fools and they’d cooled toward Andy for perhaps a week, which would have crushed Miranda but hadn’t seemed to bother Andy a bit. And then it was back to business as usual except she had an even lighter workload. Which made the party a good idea.  
  
This engagement business? _Dios Mio._ Times were changing and she supposed she was changing with them. She had little choice. This was her family and she had to support them. Sometimes, in her room at night, she prayed her rosary and asked God what had made this woman and her children her family but He did not answer her. Or perhaps He did, as Miranda remained the most important person in her life, even when she was angry with her, as she so often was. It was a mystery. God was like that, she’d decided. You could ask but not know.  
  
Much like Miranda, actually. She crossed herself for thinking such a thing and put marinade on her steaks.

* * *

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

The Castillos showed up at four, which astonished Miranda. They weren’t the sort of people to whom the phrase ‘fashionably late’ had ever occurred. Andy was delighted that Miranda accepted this with tact. “Thank God you’re here! Finally, people with manners. My other guests obviously think time is relative. Juan Carlo? The girls have been waiting for you all day. Something about Wii before the food? Carlo?” She whispered this to him, “I adore Richard and Sam but I think they’re going to set the grill on fire—and I don’t mean that in a good way. Could you help them?” He nodded, in the gravely serious manner most men did about grilling and headed toward them as Wanda laughed, “You are, what do you say? You’re very good, Miranda.”   
  
“I’m better than good, lady. Beside the Wii, Andy’s trying to explain to the children that volleyball is something you can actually play on grass in clothing, instead of on a beach in next to nothing. Let’s cut vegetables. I think Magdalena will allow us that although you’ve lived with us and you know we have to be careful with knives.”  
  
“Si—she is one to keep the eyes on, I agree.”  
  
“Are you blackening my name yet again, Miranda Priestly?”  
  
“Magdalena Vargas? Whatever could you mean? I was just bringing in Wanda to help with the vegetables.”  
  
Magdalena glared at Miranda but smiled at Wanda. “Cut them—size them for the kebabs. That one,” she said, pointing a very sharp knife at Miranda, “No. She can not be trusted. Out of my kitchen!”  
  
Miranda shrugged and patted Wanda, “Don’t say I didn’t try.”

* * *

Nigel showed up next, with two bottles of wine and wearing jeans, a shirt and sweater that might have seemed casual enough if you didn’t know how much they cost, which Andy did.  
  
“Nice duds, casual boy.”  
   
“Please. A girl has to try—I wracked my brain going through my closet.”  
  
“First time you’ve been there, I guess—your closet, I mean.”  
  
“Me-ow. Engagement suits you, Six. You look cute, too.” As they walked through the house and onto the back terrace, he said, “C’mon. Introduce me to the uber-males and we’ll get the machismo part over with.”  
  
“They’re all very nice guys. I mean, of course I’m partial to my dad and brother—”  
  
“The hottie?”  
  
“Yeah. And I’d wish you luck but I’m not hopeful—he keeps thinking he’s straight.”  
  
“Pity.”  
  
“Exactly. But Carlo’s fantastic, too. So no worries. All friends here.”  
  
As she introduced them, she was fascinated yet again by how easily Nigel could turn his ‘gayness’ off—totally off. It hurt her to realize he must have had to learn to do so very early in his life and, in some cases, for his personal safety. It hurt her more deeply to think this lovely man could not be himself until he was absolutely sure of his surroundings. She hugged him tightly as she introduced him to the three men.  
  
Nigel perused the grill and asked, “What’s cooking, Six?”  
  
“Steaks and kebabs and then some veggies in foil.”  
  
“Yes. Right. The grill’s certainly large enough for all three. Bank most of the charcoal toward the back for the steaks, less in the middle for the kebabs and least of all toward the front for the veg. That way we can cook them all in one go. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”  
  
They all nodded as if this had been exactly what they were thinking and Andy grinned. Nigel would be just fine.  
  
The next people to show up were Emily and Serena. Audrey, Andy and Miranda were putting flowers on the table outside as the two women walked onto the terrace. Sam immediately joined them, as he’d always been magnetized by beautiful women. He took one look and said, “Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.” Andy laughed and said, “There goes my hope of any attention from Miranda tonight.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Audrey’s tone was slightly chilly.  
  
“Well, look at her. Emily’s gorgeous but Serena is…Serena. Miranda has an enormous _Runway_ crush on her.”  
  
“I do not.”  
  
“Oh, please. You do.”  
  
Miranda ignored her and crossed the lawn to greet them. Serena was as she always was—serene. Miranda was a bit concerned that Emily might hyperventilate when she kissed her cheek but she was determined to be what Andy wanted her to be. Emily was dressed in casual, yet wildly expensive clothing, just as Nigel was. Serena was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that Miranda could only imagine had come from a thrift store and she looked like ten million dollars. She cursed internally. Andy was right. She did have a _Runway_ crush.  
  
“I’m so glad both of you could come. You’re both looking as lovely as usual.” She glared at Serena who smiled at her and said in her lilting accent, “And I know, Miranda. You needn’t remind me with that look. Snap snap goes the camera. Very soon.”  
  
Miranda opened her mouth, paused and closed it. Serena smiled. It was rare that people got the drop on her but Serena had always had that propensity. Emily never seemed to notice this because, as Andy had beaten into her head, the Englishwoman had a _Runway_ crush of her own.  
  
Meanwhile, Sam was telling his sister and mother, “They are hot with a capital Hawt. Day-umm.”  
  
“That’s the Emily? She’s really pretty—she doesn’t seem—“  
  
“Mom? Give us about five minutes together and you’ll find out how she seems. She really, truly can’t stand me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Hell, I don’t know—the sky is blue? Grass is green?”  
  
“Why’d you invite her then?”  
  
“Because I can’t help it. I adore Emily.”  
  
Andy rushed out and greeted Serena happily and faux-hugged Emily, which she knew was about the most the woman could tolerate.  
  
Audrey moved forward because this was her child, after all, and said, “I’m so glad to meet you both. I hope you’ve heard the happy news.” She held Andy’s hand up for Emily’s perusal and the Englishwoman paled. She didn’t keep her composure however, “Oh, fantastic! There we go—a ring. And an over the top one as well. Good luck with that, princess.”  
  
Audrey wasn’t necessarily happy about the engagement, wasn’t joyful, wasn’t anything she knew she should have been but she was, no matter what, protective of her children. “Yes, Miranda has made yet another good decision. My daughter. You never doubt Miranda, do you?” Ouch. That was a shot across the bow. Andy knew her mother was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them.  
  
Serena looked from Andy to Emily to Audrey, “No. She never does. Never,” she said firmly.  
  
Emily nodded and stalked away.  
  
Serena smiled sweetly and said, “I apologize for her manners. She’ll be fine when she gets used to it. There are some things that remain hard for her.”  
  
Audrey nodded at Serena, “I understand but I hate spoil sports.”  
  
Serena smiled, “As do I, Audrey. That won’t happen. She’ll be fine. I can handle it. I’m far better than I look.”  
  
“That would be hard.”  
  
Serena smirked, “I see. My reputation precedes me?”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Mom!?”  
  
“Serena? Nothing is more enjoyable than embarrassing your adult child.”  
  
“Perhaps I’ll have that pleasure someday—if not, I’ll be happy to watch you and your daughter. I’m sorry for Emily. Congratulations.” She leaned forward and kissed Andy on the cheek, which made the young woman blush scarlet.  
  
Serena perused her for a few seconds, “My my. Look at that. Incarnadine truly suits you, Andy.”  
  
Andy shook her head to clear it, “That’s something Miranda says…”  
  
Serena waved one hand, “Does she? Yes? Well, great minds and all. Let me chase down my love and put a drink in her hand. Something to soothe the English beast. It’s lovely to meet you, Audrey.”  
  
As they watched Serena cross the lawn, Audrey said, “That’s the single sexiest human I’ve ever laid eyes on.”  
  
“MOM!!”  
  
“Is she not?”  
  
“Well…yeah. Of course she is. But a mom doesn’t say sexy—and not about a girl.”  
  
“You have so little room to talk about that. We both need a drink.”  
  
“A drink? I need a fifth of vodka. Never say the word sexy again. You hear me?”  
  
Audrey only laughed.

* * *

Doug and Lily showed up to general whoops of glee from the entire Sachs family. Before the serious grilling began, Doug pulled Caroline onto his back as she brandished a plastic sword. Juan Carlo looked terribly undecided and his father said, “Juan Carlo? Carry Cassidy—you are strong. You will win.” The tiny boy let Cassidy climb onto his back with her plastic sword and the four of them fought and parried marvelously.  
  
Carlo was sitting next to Nigel as they watched the play and nursed their beers.  
  
“I know what you think. I make my son do things he should not.”  
  
Nigel, who’d been thinking exactly that, said, “I don’t have the right to talk about children. I don’t have them.”  
  
“You have the right—you were a child once, no?”  
  
Nigel glanced at Carlo and said, “Yes. I was a child.”  
  
Carlo took a sip of his beer and exhaled heavily. “I can not speak the best English. My Wanda and my Juan Carlo speak better. I tell my boy these things. If he wants to read, let him read. If he wants to play the music, I will take another job for the lessons. If he wants to dance, let him. But he is small and he wants to be big so I try to say the things that will make him proud. He can carry that girl but you see? He was afraid. A father should make his son feel proud. That is what I want for my son. A father who sees him.”  
  
Nigel felt tears stinging his eyes and he took a sip of his beer. Carlo looked at him as he said, “I am a simple man but I hope to be a good one. If my son grew up to be a good man and a happy man exactly— _exactly_ like you are, Nigel, I would be a very proud father.”  
  
Nigel wanted to cry but he only sniffled a little, took a sip of his beer and said, “God, I wish you’d been my father.”  
  
Carlo laughed and said, “I hope that doesn’t mean you want me to be your daddy.”  
  
The mischief in Carlo’s eyes nearly made Nigel spit his beer on his sweater. He respected cashmere too much for that but it was a close call.  
  
“Please tell me there’s a reason you know gay vernacular beside the obvious.”  
  
“Oh _, si_. When my Wanda told me about Miranda and Andy, I did the Google. My son has taught me. I don’t want to be ignorant—you see? People listen to me and they think I am a stupid. I am not but they don’t understand. They are ignorant. It hurts you when people don’t know you. So I did the Google to know how to be with them.”  
  
Nigel shoulder bumped Carlo and said, “You’re seriously on my team in volleyball, man.”  
  
“We will crush them like roaches.”

* * *

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

Lily was playing nice and doing the meeting and greeting but she pulled Andy aside as soon as she could and forced her to take a seat. “Spill, bitch. Look at that ring!”  
  
Andy smiled shyly, “I got engaged.”  
  
“Well…uh. Yeah. No shit—let’s hear it!”  
  
Andy lowered her voice, “It was about the least romantic proposal you could possibly imagine.”  
  
“No way—I’d be thinking she’d pull out the stops.”  
  
“Yeah, you’d think so but…uh…not.” Andy gave an abbreviated version of the event and Lily’s eyes popped. “That girl didn’t even really ask you and you said yes?”  
  
“No. Well. Yeah. I mean she did ask me but I sort of had to force her to.”  
  
“She’s a head-case, Andy. You know that right?”  
  
Andy looked at Miranda who was, for some reason, play-punching with Carlo, “I know. But she’s my head-case.” She took a deep breath and smiled at Lily. “I love her, Lily. I mean I love her like you love someone you would do anything to be lucky enough to marry.”  
  
Lily looked at her friend, someone she’d known nearly all of their lives. She thought about their lives in New York. She and Andy and Doug and Nate had been kids—kids with all the things that seemed grown up—jobs and apartments and drinking and partying and sex. But still kids. And she’d been angry, so very angry, about Nate but this was not the same woman she was seeing. This was a grown up. Her friend had become an adult and that was sort of hard to wrap her mind around because it certainly and suddenly seemed to mean she needed to grow up, too.  
  
She hugged Andy, “I’m so happy for you and that’s a hell of a ring.”  
  
Andy looked down and her dark hair fell into her face, “I know. It’s almost embarrassing.”  
  
Lily raised her hands and pushed Andy’s hair behind her ears. “It’s not embarrassing, sweetie. It tells you what you mean to the person who loves you best. You can look at it all the time and know someone loves you, can’t you?”  
  
Andy’s lower lip poked out a bit and Lily said, “Don’t do it, Sachs! No crying. Let’s talk about baseball or something.”  
  
Andy laughed, “Exactly! How ‘bout those Yankees?”

* * *

Doug could see Lily and Andy were having one of those girl moments men were fools to interrupt so he sidled up to Nigel and asked as he looked at Miranda, who still seemed slightly surreal to him even though he was in her yard, for God’s sake. “Nigel? Is this normal for…her? I mean, you know, the grilling and games and the kids and stuff?”  
  
Nigel took a long pull from his beer. “No. This is completely absurd. For her. All of this—all of it—is Andy.”  
  
His face was so serious that Doug asked, “Is that bad?”  
  
Nigel glanced at Doug and then at Miranda who was laughing at something Wanda was saying, “Do you know what it means to see Miranda happy? If even for a second?”  
  
Doug shook his head.  
  
“Do you pray?”  
  
“Pray?”  
  
“Yes—I’m sure you’ve heard the term. As in God and all that.”  
  
“Yes. Sure. Sometimes.”  
  
“Look at Miranda. Just look at her. She’s happy. That, Douglas, is the answer to a prayer. God does answer them, you know. Want another beer?”  
  
“Sure. But Nigel?”  
  
“Yes?  
  
“Who was praying?”  
  
Nigel winked at him. “Only God knows, right? I like that about Him.”

* * *

The food was marvelous and Magdalena scowled as people heaped praises on her.  
  
“What—it was meat and vegetables. I’m too old not to know how to cook at least these things. It’s not a baked Alaska, is it?”  
  
“Oh, c’mon, Maggie—you could make a mean baked Alaska.”  
  
“In this household, Caroline? With what? The sugar-free this, the fat-free that? I work like a coal miner to get a dessert into you every few weeks.”  
  
“That’s mom’s fault, right Mom?”  
  
“That’s right, dear. I believe desserts are perfectly lovely in moderation and tonight we will enjoy homemade ice cream,” she glowered at Magdalena, “which is decidedly full of fat and sugar, but only after I slaughter a few people at volleyball.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Nigel said, “Is that an order to lose?”  
  
Miranda’s smile was feral. “Oh no—that’s an order to try to win if you can. Men first.”  
  
“Fine. I already have dibs on Carlo—so Richard, Sam? You want to play?”  
  
“Let’s do it.”  
  
Wanda smirked as Carlo began to do some very vigorous warming up stretches and as Nigel took his sweater off. Andy rolled her eyes as she watched him carefully folding it.  
  
He caught her at it and said, “You don’t just ball up cashmere and throw it on the ground, Six. Or maybe you do—that would explain a lot.”  
  
“Are you kidding? Like I could ball up clothing in this house.”  
  
“You could ball up that atrocious sweatshirt, darling.”  
  
“Actually, Miranda, I already did that—along with that miserable robe of yours.”  
  
“You did not.”  
  
“Did too, sweetheart. My sweatshirt and the robe of doom are happily balled up together.”  
  
“That’s almost romantic in a very Andrea sort of way.”  
  
“Well, you know me. Ms. Romance.”  
  
Miranda surprised her by pulling her into a hug and kissing her.  
  
“Oh God, mush alert.” Cassidy said. Caroline giggled and said, “My eyes—they burn.”  
  
Emily took a sip of her beer. “I know exactly how you feel, Caroline.”  
  
“Emily! You finally figured out which one of us is which.”  
  
“Oh please. I’ve always known. I just liked irritating you.”  
  
Cassidy asked, “Really?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“That’s sort of cool, actually.”  
  
“I’m a complete well of coolness. Ask Serena.”  
  
“She is coolness personified—which is not to say frigid, you understand.”  
  
Cassidy cackled, “My ears! They bleed.”  
  
Serena stared at the children, “You’re entirely too grown up for your own good.”  
  
“Mom’s fault.”  
  
Miranda pulled away from Andy to ask, “What am I being blamed for now?”  
  
“Nothing,” the twins said in unison.

* * *

Nigel, despite his somewhat effete demeanor at Runway, turned out to be somewhat alarmingly agile and a ferocious competitor. He was well matched with Carlo and even Andy and Audrey had to laugh as they blistered Richard and Sam.  
  
Actually, even Sam had to laugh as they were completely punished despite their wildest efforts, “You guys are fu—effin’ machines.”  
  
Serena, who was standing next to Miranda, said, “This is like watching testosterone on acid.”  
  
“Have we taken the acid or have they?”  
  
“Both probably. Next the children play and then you realize you and Andy will have to play me and Emily.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“We will beat you. Please don’t hold it against me.”  
  
Miranda tilted her head and said, “You can try.”  
  
“I will succeed.”  
  
“Wanna bet?”  
  
“No. You’ve already extorted the photo shoot. That’s the only thing I’d put on the table but I know it’d break your heart to lose it so I won’t.”  
  
Miranda stared at her as if she’d never seen her. “What on Earth would make you say that?”  
  
Serena shrugged, “Don’t misunderstand me. I know you do not want me in the physical way. But you certainly want me and you’ll have me exactly once. I won’t take that away from you but I will beat you at volleyball.” She leaned far into Miranda’s personal space, “Count on it.”  
  
Miranda blushed so ferociously that Andy, who’d happened to look at Miranda as she was cheering her losing loved ones looked at her quizzically. Miranda smiled vaguely and turned away.

* * *

After the Sachs men had been dispatched by the Nigel/Carlo force of nature, there was a bit of trouble deciding who would be the fourth kid. Doug and Lily flipped a coin for it and Doug it was. Lily laughed and said, “Thank God. I don’t like sweating at parties that don’t involve….never mind. It’s all yours.”  
  
“Okay—Juan Carlo? Me and you against the terrible twosome.”  
  
Juan Carlo shook his head, “No, Mr. Doug. It is not fair. We are men and we should each have a woman on our team.”  
  
Doug did a manly job of not laughing at the boy’s description of himself and the girls. “You do realize those two can probably kick our butts, right?”  
  
“Of course—but at least it will seem fair. I think it’s the good thing to do. I know my _papi_ would think so.”  
  
“Caroline? Cassidy? Choose between us. I have nothing but sheer lack of athletic ability on my side. Juan Carlo, on the other hand, is very handsome and looks like a fierce competitor.”  
  
Caroline rolled her eyes, “I’ll take you, Doug.”  
  
Cassidy smiled at Caroline and whispered, “You’re such a sucker.”  
  
Caroline whispered even more quietly, “For you? Yeah.”  
  
“GAME ON!” Doug boomed.  
  
He turned out to be as abysmal as he’d said he was and although they were losing horribly, Caroline couldn’t even hold it against him. At one point she asked him, “Dude, did you ever play anything before today? I mean, like, ever?”  
  
“I’ve been told I play a mean game of checkers.”  
  
Caroline pointed at Cassidy and laughed, “You so owe me big time.”

* * *

After that match went by and wildly quickly, it was time for what everyone knew was the real showdown.  
  
Emily sniffed as she looked Andy over, “We’ll be finished in no time, don’t you think?”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“It must be lovely to live in a dream world.”  
  
Andy waved at the terrace, the house. “Oh wait—I do actually live here.”  
  
Emily glowered at her.  
  
“Stop being a brat, Em. It gives you wrinkles.”  
  
At this, Emily actually looked a bit startled which made Andy snicker, “You’re so easy. Don’t worry. You’re perfectly lovely, Em.”  
  
“Sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”  
  
Andy took a seat next to the woman and asked, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Why? Why all this? Why invite me? I know it’s you—it’s not Miranda. I don’t like you. I can barely stand you and you know it.”  
  
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just always, always liked you. I can’t help it.”  
  
She patted Emily on the shoulder. “Just one of those mysteries of life, I guess. You’ll have to get used to it. I have.”  
  
She leaned in and lowered her voice, “Maybe we’re just ill-fated to always be in each others’ lives. It happens. I mean—I’ve read books where it happens. Haven’t you?”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake. Anything but that. Not fate.”  
  
“Fate? Maybe. Volleyball? Definitely. Get ready to get served, Charlton.”  
  
“Please. Have you seen Serena?”  
  
“Yeah, tallish, Brazilian, hot?”  
  
“Exactly. The serving will be all yours.”  
  
The first serving for the men, and even the women, was the fact that Serena took off her sweatshirt. She was wearing a perfectly respectable sports tank but Sam ran his hands through his hair even as his dad did the same thing.  
  
“That’s counts for about five points right there, Dad.”  
  
“I’m not supposed to notice that.”  
  
“I’ll notice for you.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Serena smiled sweetly at Miranda as she did a few stretches.  
  
Andy whispered, “Don’t let her rattle you.”  
  
Miranda hissed, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Hello!,” Andy hissed right back, “She’s fucking hotter than hell and she knows you have that thing about her.”  
  
“I do not have a thing.”  
  
“You so have a thing it’s not even funny. Keep your mind on the game.”  
  
“My mind is on the game.”  
  
“Your mind is on putting her in some fucking vintage Valentino or some such shit. Eyes on the prize, sweetheart. Photo fantasy later.”  
  
Miranda glared at Andy, who merely raised her eyebrows, which pretty much meant “Am I wrong?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Fine.”

* * *

The game was surprisingly even, although Serena’s height gave her a great spiking advantage. Emily and Andy were so determined not to lose to the other that they were demons of energy. The surprising player was Miranda who, despite being twice her opponents and partner’s ages was more aggressive, faster and brutal than any of the spectators could believe. The match was completely tied and came down to match point.  
  
Serena served and they had a long volley before Serena leaped into the air and spiked the ball to the far side of the grass. Miranda threw herself like an Olympian to reach it but only tipped it and hit the ground so hard that everyone gasped. She was face down on the ground and Andy reached for her but Emily was there before she could actually touch her. She slapped at Andy’s hands and said, “Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her!”  
  
Everyone was watching with concern but the look on Emily’s face was one of sheer terror. As Andy moved to help, Serena grabbed her and said quietly. “No. Let her. Please.”  
  
Emily gently touched Miranda’s back and said, “Miranda, don’t move. Do not move. Can you hear me?”  
  
There was a muffled, “Of course I can hear you. We lost didn’t we?”  
  
“That doesn’t matter. She touched Miranda’s arms and legs. “Can you feel me touching you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good. Can you move your arms for me?” Miranda did so. “Your legs?” Miranda dutifully wiggled them.  
  
“Oh thank God. I think you can turn over now.”  
  
Miranda turned over and saw the look in Emily’s tear-filled eyes and remembered it. When she was shot—that was exactly the look she’d seen. Terror.  
  
She said loudly to her guests, “I’m fine, everyone.” She lowered her voice and said, “I’m sorry I scared you, Emily.”  
  
“What on Earth were you thinking?”  
  
“I wanted to win.”  
  
“You’re 50 years old, Miranda—you’re not a football player. That was insane.”  
  
“But I wanted to win.”  
  
Emily whispered, “I rather you lose than lose you.”  
  
Miranda reached up and touched Emily’s face. “Emily. My only Emily. Help me up and let’s get some ice cream, okay?”  
  
Emily pulled her up and Miranda looked sheepishly at her guests. “Sorry—but you know what they say. It’s not a party until the hostess is face down on the ground.”  
  
Magdalena, whose heart had been in her throat, shouted, “I must get the large ice pack for you, I am thinking.”  
  
“I’m not hurt.”  
  
“Oh—it’s for your pride—the biggest part on you.”  
  
Andy chuckled, then hugged Miranda and kissed her cheek.  Serena patted her on the back. “I told you I’d win.”   
  
“My God, I could have been terribly injured and you’re already gloating?”  
  
“Would you do any differently?”  
  
Miranda thought about it. “I’d have been gloating while you were still on the ground.”  
  
“Great minds.”   
  
Andy held onto Miranda as they crossed to the table.  
  
“Balenciaga, Serena.”  
  
“Oh? So you have decided? Andy? Your fiancée is refreshing. To be frank, most people undress me with their eyes. She is the only person I’ve ever met who constantly dresses me with her eyes.”

* * *

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

The end of any party was always a little weird, Andy thought, always a little stilted. It helped if the people involved were really friends and read the subtle cues you gave, “Go ahead and hit the road,” or “Please for God’s sake stay and help clean up.”  
  
She gave Lily, Doug, Emily, Serena and Nigel the green light to go and they couldn’t have been more pleasant as they expressed their enjoyment of the evening. The Castillos were hostages to the clean-up, which they pitched into with a will. It was natural enough, because they seemed like family, not like friends. It made her wonder why. Doug and Lily were life-long friends but the Castillos were just different. As she watched Juan Carlo laughing with Sam as the awning fell down, yet again, on her brother she smiled. Life was good.

* * *

Wanda smiled as she helped Audrey fold the long tablecloth. “It was good—this party. I liked it so much.”  
  
Audrey nodded and took a deep breath, saying nothing.  
  
Wanda looked at her for a few seconds and said, “You do not like this with your daughter and Miranda—I see it.”  
  
They moved closer together, bringing the corners of the cloth together. “I don’t know how to like it.”  
  
“Si. I understand.” Wanda took the cloth from Audrey and did the last few folds herself. “I am a Catholic, you know?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“My church does not let me approve of this. The feelings yes and always. The actions no. But who am I, Audrey? Who are you? Look at the happy life they have. I pray God looks at them the way I see them. I only have one blessed son. Nothing could make me unhappy if he was safe and happy and good. You have the blessing of a good daughter with all this love, all these things, and still you are so unhappy?”  
  
Audrey smiled through tears, “It’s easy enough when you say it that way.”  
  
“No. Never easy. It is hard to find your way. I have found mine. I am happy to be here. Me, my husband, my son? You must see this. We are part of this family.”  
  
Audrey’s mind, her eyes, her soul were so tired and she shook her head sadly, “So what are you saying? We’re lucky?”  
  
“Luck is what we call things God gives us, Audrey. God gave me your daughter and Miranda and their children. I thank Him every day for that blessing. I will thank Him tonight for you and your husband and your son.”

* * *

Juan Carlo was helping the twins fold the chairs and he said, elaborately carefully, “I think perhaps that Ms. Andy’s _mami_ is not so happy.”  
  
“No shit, Sherlock.”  
  
“Shut up, Caroline. What she meant to say, if she was wearing her polite hat, Jace,” using one of their few nicknames for him, “was that, yeah, we know Andy’s mom’s not happy.”  
  
Juan Carlo always felt more comfortable with Cassidy so he asked her, “Is it because…I mean…” he really had no words for it.  
  
Caroline was happy to help him, “Because they’re lesbos? Yeah, that’s about it in a big fat homo nutshell, Jace.”  
  
“Caroline? I swear to God. You’re asking for it. Stop it.”  
  
“Why? She’s dissing our family, Cass!”  
  
Juan Carlo felt tears stinging his eyes and he wiped them away immediately. “She is not doing that. I don’t think so. I think she’s afraid. People who are afraid of different people hurt you sometimes. My _mami_ and _papi_ have told me this. Because I am Mexican and we are poor and I am not like the people in our school. They told me people can be mean because they’re afraid. Even you have told me so. Because I am poor and different.”  
  
Cassidy crossed to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not different. You’re the best boy I know.”  
  
Caroline sneered at both of them but her eyes were oddly kind, “You know what? I love you both but I fucking hate the people who hurt us and Cassidy? Who’s Audrey to us? Nobody. Just another nobody like the nobodies with cameras outside our house creating a load of bullshit for us anytime they want to.”  
  
Juan Carlo was astonished by Caroline’s profanity but said, “You may be right about the camera people but Ms. Audrey will be your family now and I tell you she is only afraid.”  
  
“Fine. Boo hoo. She can be afraid and just grow the fuck up. I know I have to. Cass and I both do, Jace. Daily.”  
  
At times like this Cassidy watched her twin and wondered how they could be genetically exactly the same and still so completely different.

* * *

Eventually, the Castillos left with smiles but Juan Carlo was so troubled he could barely smile. Cassidy leaned forward to him and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.”  
  
He smiled shyly at her and when they left Caroline asked Cassidy what she’d said.  
  
“That you’re an asshole.”  
  
“No you didn’t.”  
  
Cassidy smiled and shoulder bumped her sister. “Of course I didn’t. Let’s go crash with a movie while the old people do whatever they do.”  
  
“Sounds good to me.”  
  
They said polite goodnights and headed up the stairs when Cassidy said, “Caroline?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Cassidy grabbed her hand, one stair below her sister and looked into her eyes—really looked at her.  
  
Caroline glanced down at their joined hands. “Fine. Whatever. I’m sorry.”  
  
“You’re my best friend, you know.”  
  
Caroline smiled at her and her eyes clouded with sadness, “You know what? You’ll get better friends. You’re bound to. A husband or wife or what the fuck ever. And I’ll have friends but I’ll never have anyone but you.”  
  
Cassidy hastened to say, “That’s not tr—“ But then she looked at her sister, really saw her. Eyes she knew like she knew her own, were exactly her own actually, but so very different for some reason she knew she couldn’t understand. “Well, lucky you’ve got me, huh?”  
  
Caroline laughed, deliberately changing the mood, “True dat. Whatcha wanna watch?”  
  
“300?”  
  
“Fuck. Again? At least two of us seem hetero—so far.”  
  
“I know, right? Eye candy. Nigel’s wildest dream.”  
  
Caroline snickered, “300, baby. You got it.”

* * *

When the Sachs left, their reactions were as varied as their personalities. Sam was gleeful, Richard happy, Audrey thoughtful.  
  
Andy hugged them all. Miranda kissed and hugged Sam, kissed Richard’s cheek and rather frostily hugged Audrey. But as they pulled out of the hug Miranda said, “She’s completely safe with me.”  
  
Audrey swallowed hard and nodded. “I know. It’s just hard—to know.”  
  
Miranda offered her hand, “We have the rest of our lives to figure it out, don’t we?”  
  
Audrey smiled and shook Miranda’s hand warmly, “That we do. Christmas is coming.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“I like the look of fear on your face, Miranda.”  
  
“Only the person who does my mammograms ever sees it.”  
  
“So? We have something in common.”  
  
“How could we doubt it?”  
  
“Take care—and take care of her.”  
  
“Are you kidding? She’s nearly in Fort Knox with me.”  
  
“Good enough.”

* * *

Miranda wondered as she walked into _Runway_ whether there was any truly reasonably successful navigation of a space where your assistant and art director had beaten you at volleyball and had nearly laughed in your face about a photo shoot.  
  
She squared her shoulders. The easy answer? She could be Miranda Priestly. Emily looked at her as if she’d never seen her in her life. Typically and completely business appropriate. She’d found a soft spot in her heart for Emily that Andy had always told her was there. Who knew? And when she called Serena into her office, it was as if nothing between them had ever happened or existed. Until Serena left her office and winked before she did so.  
  
Miranda took a deep breath. Serena was slightly unhappy about the shoot but clearly all was on track. Or as on track as things were in her world.  
  
That photo shoot. She took another deep breath and smiled. It would be magic.

* * *

Or not. Serena was more gorgeous than Miranda could have ever imagined and she would never have told Andy how often she’d imagined just…exactly this. Except something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Which made her angry and then Patrick made a suggestion and then it was easy. Soft. She knew it would be perfect and she completely hated it.

* * *

Miranda knew Andy might be just a bit perturbed by the book but she wasn’t perturbed exactly.  
  
“What in the fucking fuck is this? You?! Is this seriously the fucking cover?”  
  
“Andrea! Your language!”  
  
Andy toned her voice down just a bit. “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”  
  
Miranda almost laughed. Andy wasn’t mad. She was just…truly…not angry.  
  
“What the fuck were you two thinking?”  
  
Miranda was not stupid and had noticed a plethora of fucks in the last few sentences but she had to answer.  
  
“It was horrible—Demarchelier? He told me to do it so I did. It would have been a disaster otherwise.”  
  
Andy stared at the picture that showed Miranda seated in a chair with Serena seated on the floor between her legs. She was wearing red vintage Balenciaga displaying her shoulders, arms and making the most of her modest décolletage. Miranda was in a black Prada suit with a white blouse. Serena had one arm firmly wrapped around one of Miranda’s legs and her red nail varnish not only matched her dress but seemed to point to Miranda’s red Blahniks.  
  
Miranda had placed one hand on Serena’s bare shoulder and Serena had reached back to place her hand over it. Miranda stared into the lens and looked entirely inscrutable but Serena, with her pale hand on Miranda’s had turned toward the camera and given the most otherworldly smile Andy had ever seen outside of the Mona Lisa. It could have meant anything, nothing or everything. It was the single sexiest photo she’d ever seen.  
  
“We are fucking framing this.”  
  
“Do you know how many times you’ve said fuck in the last few minutes?”  
  
“You think that’s a fluke? Do you know what we’re doing when our kids are in bed?”  
  
“Is that right?”  
  
“You got it, fiancée. You know what could only put the icing on this cake beside your being in bed with me?”  
  
Miranda sighed happily, “You’ll tell me, I’m sure.”  
  
“Emily is going to fucking die. I mean—think of the most delicious meal you’ve ever dreamed of eating—that’s what I’m thinking about right now. That’s what this will be for her. She’s going to DIE!”  
  
Which was sort of true. Serena was divided in her mind about showing Emily the cover but of course she had to. The other pictures were superb but the cover—yes. Miranda made it and she knew, in her heart of hearts, she’d make it for Emily. It was a strange fact that she never minded this—that Emily was in love with her boss. It was a different love and Serena actually found it sweet and charming, the more so that Emily denied it.  
  
Emily stared at the cover so long that Serena thought she might have hurt her feelings. But Emily surprised her when she only said very quietly and simply, “I like it. I think it’s very pretty.”  


* * *

**Essays from Reluctant Models**

  
**Miranda: Editor/Reluctant Model**  
  
This is a longer editor’s note than usual for a few reasons. If you care to and I suggest it, you can read more interesting and, frankly, more reasoned and substantive articles about the objective and subjective (our theme this month) elsewhere in this issue. I’ve read my share of philosophy and theory on this topic, which has sometimes engaged but more often bored me. I supposed, however, it was necessary to weigh in (and yes, that was a joke) because as you can see that for the first and only time, I’m on the cover of my own magazine with my employee Serena.  
  
It was a matter of happenstance, of sorts, because neither of us can stomach having our pictures taken. Yet, there she was and there I was. And here we are. We both agreed to write about it. I go first because I’m the editor and it was entirely my fault and I’ll assume no one in the professional or tabloid press would be one bit surprised.  
  
My job involves what many people consider objectification. I know it and I’ve never apologized for it. I’ve asked Serena to model for _Runway_ multiple times over the years she’s worked here. Why? Because she is a beautiful thing upon whom it’s quite easy to imagine hanging other beautiful things, which is my profession. But not hers.  
  
Fair enough. She’s never wanted to be a face of _Runway_ or to be seen through the lens of our culture’s definition of beauty, something for which she holds me at least partially responsible. I’m quite aware of the countless misuses of objectification, some of which are correctly or equally incorrectly attributed to me and to my magazine. I should perhaps admit that I call people ‘beautiful things’ primarily because it irritates those who don’t know or care about beauty as I do—those who don’t have the slightest professional obligation to it.  
  
My professional conception of beauty is one thing but it’s not the sum of what I find beautiful. What else is there? Beside what I put in this magazine?  
  
Rainfall. Flowers struggling up through our city’s sidewalks. My children’s laughter. My partner’s rolling her eyes at me when she thinks I don’t see it. Balsamic vinegar on a freshly sliced tomato. Simply waking and breathing, knowing my family is healthy and happy in our home.  
  
Long ago, I visited a friend in hospice and his trembling hand touching mine as he recognized and greeted me was a stark reminder, young as we both were, of the fragility of life. That was horrible and very beautiful. Although it’s a cliché, perhaps some never fully understand that a true appreciation of beauty can never exist removed from an appreciation of its ephemeral nature.  
  
Keats comes to mind, always:  
  
_She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;_  
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips  
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh…  
  
I’ve always known that everything I revere and admire will always remain outside me and will leave me, if only in death. Which, when one thinks about it, is another beautiful thing. I’m the only subject in my life. And, if you know anything at all, you’re the only subject in your own.  
  
I believe part of our duty as human beings is to see the objects around us and to admire and revere them for the independent subjects they are. They are all people or clothes or art or ideas with existences outside of our own. I don’t have the slightest clue what the dearest loves of my life truly think or feel or are. And not solely because I’m as obtuse or solipsistic as people paint me or as you, reading this, are as well. No one and nothing I see is me or mine and never will be. But I can hope that I know something about them or they me. When I look into my children’s or partner’s eyes and there’s the slightest hint that we’re truly sharing the same moment, it’s a glimpse of the transcendent.  
  
I remember, as a girl, riding at night in my parents’ car. Seeing other children in the cars passing us by, realizing that I would never know what they were thinking or feeling as I watched street lights illuminating their faces and feeling our flashing mutual momentary attention to each other. They passed, all that they were, whole of themselves. Separate forever and I’d never know. Were they happy or sad? Were they hungry for dinner, like I was, or sulking over a bad grade at school or whatever I could imagine at that age? Snapshots of life outside me.   
  
I remember wondering, even as my parents looked at me—or my teachers, my friends: what were they really seeing or thinking? Not what I was seeing or thinking, surely. Not even the converse of it. Nothing that I could ever touch or know. And this was somehow always sad but completely obvious and beautiful to me even as a child.  
  
So I devoted myself to a career of showing people what I could and can see. A fool’s errand. But the world of art unites us and reminds us that a shared perception is possible, no matter how fleeting. One must only connect.   
  
Much about life can seem relative. But what is beautiful, important and relevant? It’s adamantine—hard, sharp and true. If you can’t see that, I can.

* * *

**Serena: Art Director/Reluctant Model**

  
Miranda was kind enough to let me read what she wrote before asking my side of this. She gave me carte blanche to say what I wanted. What to say? The pictures are better than I expected, although I should not be surprised. I’m an art director at _Runway_ , after all. What Miranda wrote might be surprising to some but is very like her, I think.  
  
What else? I love fashion and art but choose to care almost nothing about beauty. My own, I suppose I should add. I am what is considered beautiful and know it. I can’t help but know it as I have been told so all my life. There are many kinds of beauty but the kind I am speaking of is physical, not that of the soul or intellect. The _Runway_ standard of physical beauty is genetic, a fluke one is born into. I happened to be born that way but did not choose it as a career. Or perhaps so but I work behind the camera, not in front of it.  
  
I have been approached by many people many, many times to trade my physical appearance for gain, both in professional and more personal ways. I have always declined. So why did I do this? Simply said, I tired of Miranda’s asking. I gave up and agreed. Only this once.  
  
As far as objectification is concerned? I have experienced it too many times to remember. Miranda’s is overt and professional. I know I am a visual object to her. Every time she sees me, she looks at me for the briefest moment as if I were a shoe or a dress irritating her because it refuses to be photographed. Then we move on—to me as a human, her employee, our work. I do not take it personally. Maybe that is the reason I don’t take offence—it is her job. I know it is not personal.  
  
I suppose I should tell the story of my supposed objectification. My photo shoot was a disaster. The vast majority of humanity will never know that nothing feels so deeply like a disaster—like the fashion Titanic hitting an iceberg—as when Miranda Priestly is watching your photo shoot fail. After what seemed like hours and certainly enough time for Leonardo to pull Kate up to the end of the ship (prow/bow? I’m not nautical), Miranda jumped in.  
  
She took a seat and the photographer said I should sit on the floor between her legs. Not easy. I was in vintage Balenciaga. I lowered myself onto the floor, she pulled me back into her Prada suit and, after a few awkward shots, I relaxed and put my arm around her leg. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder as she whispered into my ear, “What on Earth is your problem? It’s only a % &*#$ camera, Serena.” This made me very happy and it was hard not to laugh. The photo shoot was art for her but at that point I knew she was suffering what she considered the tortures of the damned for it.  Me too. Welcome to my world, Miranda. It was brilliant and made the pictures perfect.  
  
So I am now on the cover of _Runway_ , the last place I would ever want to be. Anyone who knows me, including my family, will be greatly amused.  
  
I have also now been professionally beautiful for someone I truly admire. It is nothing I want to do again but I managed to put Miranda on the cover even as she put me there. I promise you she likes it even less than I do and this, again, makes me very happy. Not, as people say, a bad day’s work.  
  
One last thing? Yes, Miranda beggars description of your worst belief about her at work. The Ice Queen’s hand on my shoulder, however, was soft and warm. This did not surprise me. She is so much more than she appears. As am I. Or everyone I have ever met, for that matter. Aren’t you? For this cover? For her and only her? This object does not object at all.

* * *

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Although in theory, few things pleased Miranda more in a strictly malicious way than undercutting or flabbergasting Irv Ravitz, she’d decided it was prudent to prepare him for her cover with Serena. Prudence, as a virtue or a name, was not particularly to her taste but she supposed it couldn’t help but be something Irv might have to defend to the board and a heads-up was in order.  
  
He sat up a bit straighter in his chair as she entered. It didn’t make him taller but there was something about her that was a bit spine-stiffening. “Ah Miranda,” he said as she entered his office exactly as if it were hers and not his, “to what do I owe the honor of your taking the long trek on an elevator to see me?”  
  
She took a seat and smiled in that way that always seemed crocodilian to him. “I know you usually stay out of my editorial decisions, which I tremendously appreciate but I wanted you to see this month’s cover before it went to print.”  
  
His first thought was that this was unusual. His second thought was oh God. “Let’s see it.”  
  
She handed the mock-up of the cover to him as he donned his reading glasses. As he took it in, his eyes widened, then he slowly pulled his head back a bit as if that slight distance would make it a different picture. He put it on his desk and looked at her over his glasses. “I’ve always wondered at what point your egotism would become pathological.”  
  
She smiled at him. “You know I despise being photographed so it certainly wasn’t my idea. You know I’ve wanted Serena on our cover for years and this was the only way I could get it. Demarchelier suggested it.”  
  
“Oh. I see. Makes perfect sense. St. Patrick suggested it and now you’re on the cover of your own magazine. Do you know how this looks?”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”  
  
He looked at the picture again. “Miranda—everyone knows you’re in a relationship with a woman.”  
  
“Yes. And it hasn’t hurt sales at all, as…wait, I believe I told you.”  
  
“Fine!” He held up a hand. “Personal life is one thing, but you’re sitting there with a woman between your fucking legs! You’re the editor of the flagship of Elias Clarke, Miranda! You’re not a goddamn pin-up girl.”  
  
“I believe you mean cover girl.”  
  
His eyes tightened, “Sometimes I want to kill you.”  
  
“I know, Irving, but that particular club has a waiting list.” She handed him 20 pages. “This is our piece featuring Serena. Half shot in period settings, half in stark modern, but all in vintage couture.”  
  
He took the pages, clearly ready to despise them but with the first glance at the top page, his head tilted. He flipped through them quite slowly, then looked up at Miranda, “She really is completely exquisite.”  
  
“Yes, she is. And that’s all we or anyone else is ever getting of her.”  
  
Irv took off his glasses and sighed. “Why not put one of these on the cover, Miranda? Make my life a little easier.”  
  
Sometimes Irv looked older than he was and Miranda was quite aware many of these times were in dealing with her.  
  
“Irving. I promise you that I don’t want to be on the cover. I despise personal publicity. But it’s a phenomenal picture. I’m willing to put up with it because I can’t deny that.”  
  
“But the fallout will be—“  
  
“That it will fly off the racks faster than any issue in five years. I can guarantee it.”  
  
He scrubbed his hands over his face and said quietly, “And what if you’re wrong?”  
  
“How often does that happen when I fight for something?”  
  
He slouched in his chair. “What do I get if I’m right?”  
  
“You can tell me you ‘told you so’ and I’ll personally admit that you told me so to the board and I’ll take my lumps.”  
  
She tilted her head, “But if I’m right, and I will be, you’ll donate $50,000 to my favorite charity.”  
  
“Yeah? What’s that? An agency for overworked underpaid seamstresses in underdeveloped countries?”  
  
At this, Miranda threw her head back and laughed, guffawed even—something Irv had never seen. She laughed until she wiped her eyes, which made even him grin.  
  
“Now, Irv— _that_ was funny. But don’t get me started. Andrea’s always after me about that and so my filthy rich designers have already heard their earful from me. Sometimes it’s hard to be involved with a do-gooder.”  
  
“Wouldn’t know anything about it.”  
  
“Yes, your wife is pretty ferocious.”  
  
“Well, look who she married—and look who’s talking.”  
  
“So? We have a cover?”  
  
He threw up his hands. “You’re the editor.”  
  
“That I am. Thank you, Irving.”  
  
“Always a pleasure, Miranda.”  
  
And that was that.

* * *

Except it wasn’t.  
  
Andy did, indeed, immediately have the cover photo enlarged and framed and it was hanging in their study. She presented a framed copy to Emily and she could see the woman was thrilled because she sniffed and said primly, “Yes. Right. Thank you.”  
  
Once the magazine had been printed and copies were leaked before its hitting the stands, it felt like hell had broken loose in their little corner of the world. As Andy walked to her office on the day the _Post_ featured the cover on _Page Six_ , it occurred to her that although the fashion industry was enormous and global, the people who were the movers and shakers in it were, relatively speaking, few. And they’d been shaken, not stirred. She imagined they were thinking, as was true, that this just wasn’t something Miranda did—or ever conceivably would do. So what did that mean? And was there some meaning in it aimed at them? And on and on. It cheered Andy to think that some of the dowdier and frowzier of the editors of fashion magazines might think they needed to follow suit. As usual, she thought, good luck following Miranda’s act.  
  
As she entered her office, most of the people in the office stared at her for a second, then studiously turned away. Mike looked up from something he was looking at on Reggie’s computer and said, “So. Your girlfriend’s a cover girl?”  
  
Andy waggled her left hand at him, “Remember the fiancée part, Mike. And yeah, she is. Go figure.”  
  
“Is that Serena girl available?” Reggie grinned at her, “She looks just like the type who’s into dating boyish newbie news writers.”  
  
“She probably would, Reg, if she weren’t dating someone.”  
  
“Figures,” Matthew said, “All the good ones are taken. I know the guy’s lucky but is he at least rich or something?”  
  
“Who, Serena’s girlfriend? No, she’s not particularly rich. But she is hot.”  
  
“Damn! Hot lesbian action everywhere.” Matthew was laughing so Mike said, “Hey, can that! We’re a serious newsroom,” but he winked at Andy as he turned back to Reggie’s monitor.  
  
Andy crossed to her desk, opened her satchel and pinned this particular _Page Six_ photo to the corkboard on the side of her cubicle, right next to the one in which _Page Six_ had breathlessly discovered that Andy was wearing an engagement ring. As long as the children were uninvolved, she and Miranda were usually fairly inured to what the press said to them. Andy had decided to be amused, especially by this particular headline, “Miranda Gets the Cover—and The Girl!”

* * *

Emily was not amused. “Bloody fucking hell,” she muttered to herself as she slammed the phone down. It had been ringing all morning. “Don’t we pay PR to do anything at this magazine?”  
  
Martha giggled, “It’s so funny. They see the picture and it is like the atom bomb.”  
  
“It is not funny, Martha. It’s a pain in the arse.” Although Martha’s eternal cheer could get on Emily’s last working nerve, she had to admit that it was always good to be able to look across at the other desk into a face that wasn’t more stressed and/or horrified than her own.   
  
Miranda waltzed in and handed her coat and bag to Martha, a nicety that when begun had made Emily deeply jealous.  
  
She hadn’t even looked at Emily before saying, “Malfunction of some sort, Emily?”  
  
Emily opened her mouth and shut it. You never asked Miranda anything.  
  
As if she’d read her mind, the woman turned and said, “PR should be handling it, Emily.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda, as I suppose they are. I imagine we’re getting the overflow and,” she took a deep breath, “to be frank, I haven’t been informed of what we’re to say about this.”  
  
Even as she finished this sentence, her phone rang. Miranda grabbed it before she could and did a devastatingly accurate imitation of Emily’s accent. “Miranda Priestly’s office.”  
  
Emily had heard this exactly once before but gaped as Miranda listened, then said, “Our reaction? Our reaction is to applaud the sheer journalistic doggedness that led you to the conclusion that Miranda is indeed on the cover of this month’s issue with her employee Serena. Any other questions?”  
  
Miranda tapped her foot as she listened. “What does it mean? It means she’s on the cover with Serena. This is _Runway_ , after all, not _The Da Vinci Code_. We thank you for your interest. Goodbye.”  
  
She hung up the phone and tilted her head at Emily, “Any questions?”  
  
Emily, who was still stunned by the accent, said simply, “No.”  
  
Martha, who’d been delighted by the call said, “Miranda?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I was thinking maybe I should say to these people that the photo was, what do you call it, the candid shot?”  
  
Miranda snorted to keep from laughing. “I know you too well, Martha, so I am saying do not do that.”  
  
Martha shrugged, “It is a good answer.”  
  
“It’s a fantastic answer—one that you will not give.”  
  
“If you say so. Irv would like for you to call him.”  
  
“Of course he would.”  
  
When she called him, she had to pull the phone away from her ear and wait for him to wind down shouting his expletives before answering softly, “This is just the beginning. It’s about to explode. Just watch.”

The girls took this as they usually did—with not a grain, but a pillar of salt. Juan Carlo joined them at their usual _Page Six_ table of ostracism. He was becoming as old a hand as they were at the publicity machine.  
  
“I thought it was a very pretty picture. Your _mami_ and Ms. Serena looked very beautiful.” They both nodded in agreement as he took a bite of his hamburger and said, “These people here? They haven’t seen your _mami_ laugh or Ms. Serena play volleyball. They think they are paper people.”  
  
“Well, yeah. They’re in the paper enough.”  
  
“You know what he means, Caroline.”  
  
“Yeah I do. Sorry, Jace.”  
  
“ _De nada_. How long for this one to blow over?”  
  
“This’ll be bigger. Mom says so.”  
  
Juan Carlo nodded, “Unless there is a big murder, God forbid. Or a big divorce.”  
  
“I personally vote for a huge sex scandal—something like ‘congressman caught cheating on wife with goat.’” Caroline offered. When they both turned to her, she said, “What? You don’t think that would knock mom off the radar?”   
  
Juan Carlo suddenly giggled, “That would be a story with legs.”  
  
Cassidy laughed and held up her hand, “Good one!”  
  
Juan Carlo slapped it as Caroline looked at them with amused affection.

When the magazine hit the stands it was everything, and more, that Miranda had said it would be and after just two days, Irv asked her where to write his donation. On day five, he ordered Miranda and Serena to be at a very specific address in Times Square at 6:50PM sharp. He would not tell them why but said he would call. They dutifully went, accompanied by Andy and Emily. As they got out of the car at 6:45, Miranda said to Roy, “I have no idea how long this will take so take the slow way around.”  
  
As they stood in Times Square, they couldn’t help but draw stares from the people passing them on the sidewalk, even those New Yorkers who’d seen it all. Although Serena, in a baseball hat pulled low, could be just another gorgeous tall girl in the city, it was a little difficult not to notice Miranda, because no one else looked like her. As the time ticked by, Andy could almost watch Miranda’s blood pressure rising. Waiting was not a thing she did with any semblance of grace and waiting for an unknown was a little like pouring sawdust down her back. At 6:57, Irv called.  
  
“You’d better have a world-shaking reason to keep us waiting out here, Irving.”  
  
“Sure I do. Look at Number One.”  
  
“One, Irving? ONE? NO! NO YOU FUCKING DID NOT!”  
  
Her startled companions stared at her—at her words, their volume and the look on her face—and turned with her as she turned toward 1 Times Square.  
  
“Enjoy, Miranda.” He laughed as he hung up.  
  
At exactly 7PM, one third of the side of 1 Times Square they were facing, nearly eight stories, darkened for 10 seconds and then it suddenly exploded into a staggeringly bright LED display reading RUNWAY, morphing into a close-up of Miranda’s face on the cover, morphing into a close-up of Serena’s face on the cover, then the cover itself, and then RUNWAY.   
  
Miranda, who’d spent more than two decades in the public eye, had enough presence of mind to register even that did nothing to prepare you for being one-third the size of a skyscraper.  
  
Andy and Emily were so completely blown away that they just stood there with their mouths agape.  
  
Serena watched it through a few iterations before stepping to Miranda’s side and putting her arm over Miranda’s shoulder. She leaned in closely enough to say softly. “I didn’t even want to be on the cover of a magazine, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda couldn’t even look at her. “I know. I’m very sorry. I truly didn’t have any idea he’d do this.”  
  
Serena sighed deeply, then shrugged and surprised Miranda by kissing her on the cheek. “Ah well. It is done. If I have to be on a third of a building, I may as well be there with you.”  
  
Miranda didn’t look at her but smiled gratefully and they watched together for a few moments before she finally said, “Andrea? Emily? What do you think?”  
  
“It’s fucking awesome,” Andy said as she stared at it.  
  
“Yes. That’s the word.” Emily was glued to the vision, as well.  
  
Miranda asked Serena, “Do you think they’d notice if we left?”  
  
“After perhaps an hour.”  
  
Miranda called Roy. “We’re ready.”  
  
When Roy arrived and Andy opened the door, the driver said excitedly, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I almost wrecked the fucking car getting here. Can you believe that shit? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life. How ‘bout them apples, Big Apple?! _RUNWAY_ , BABY!” He immediately remembered himself and lowered his voice as Miranda entered the car, “Sorry, Miranda—but holy moly!”  
  
Although she was quite surprised by his exuberance, she said, “Nonsense. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Roy.”  
  
He forgot himself again, “What the hell? What’s not to love? It’s YOU! And Serena! A billion feet high! We gotta bring the kids!”  
  
“I know right? They’re going to fucking die!”   
  
“My goodness. I had no idea you two were such sailors, Andrea.”  
  
“Sorry, sweetie, but c’mon. Like Roy said, we have to bring them. They’ll love it.”  
  
“Yes, yes. Now, try to keep quiet, dear. I have a phone call to make.”  
  
She dialed and said quietly, “Very amusing, Irving. I assume you’ll have it running for a week? Yes…I’m sure it’ll do wonders for the magazine. Thank you. But it is not coming out of any part of my budget. I didn’t ask for it or approve it. It’s all yours. I certainly hope a few people owed you favors for what that’s costing. Enjoy.”  
  
After she rang off, she said quietly, “It was a completely brilliant stroke of course. Absolutely masterful.”  
  
“Miranda?”  
  
“Yes, Andrea? Why are you whispering?”  
  
“You just said that out loud.”  
  
Miranda had evidently seen something interesting, as she immediately turned toward the window. “Said what exactly? That he’s paying for it? Yes.”  
  
“That’s what I heard, Miranda,” Emily said.  
  
Andy gave the Englishwoman such a withering ‘you suck-up’ look that Serena almost laughed out loud but she only made a face at Andy and said, “That’s what I heard, too.”  
  
“Me three,” Roy agreed.  
  
Andy sighed and shook her head in disbelief—or complete belief, actually.  She smiled and closed her eyes as she took Miranda’s hand. Orwell had been right. Just like that, things could go straight down the memory hole.

* * *

The children and the Castillos went to see the billboard the next night and were so completely enchanted that Miranda had a professional videographer film it to distribute to family and friends because she hoped never to be subjected to such sizing again. She hadn’t gone to see it with her friends and family because, although she was always an object of some interest, she was now the subject of the wildest speculation. Given the cost the fashion press knew had to be involved in this billboard, a price so exorbitant it boggled the mind, everyone seemed to imagine something astonishing must be going on at _Runway_ or must be just about to happen. The fashion press quickly became so rabid for information that it became a mainstream story and paparazzi buzzed around her like flies.

* * *

On the third evening of the billboard placement, Andy peeped out the window through a crack in the curtains in their study. There were, perhaps, twenty photographers on the street. “This is nuts, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda was surveying the book and murmured, “Indeed.”  
  
“Can you tell me something?”  
  
The tone in Andy’s voice made Miranda lift her head, “What, darling?”  
  
“What happens next? There’s this big build-up…to what?”  
  
Miranda’s expression was fond but Andy saw a bit of pity in it. “It doesn’t matter what’s next, Andy.”  
  
Andy closed the curtain and leaned against the wall. “How can it not matter? I don’t understand that.”  
  
“I know you don’t. But what is _Runway_ , darling? It’s perception. The magazine will be as excellent as it always is month after month, only now people will perceive it to be better. Come sit with me.”  
  
Andy snuggled up next to Miranda, who put her arm around her. “I know we can’t talk about politics, religion or journalism but I can remind you that I’m an editor. Now of course you don’t think of me of as a real editor like your employer Mike, someone who deals with ideas and stories about big, important things.” She chuckled softly, “That’s because you really don’t have much respect for what I do.”   
  
Andy pulled sharply away, “How can you say that? Of course I do!”  
  
“Look at my face, Andy. Listen to my voice. I’m not angry. I know you respect the work I put into my profession and you know it’s very difficult and that you couldn’t do it. You know I’m the best in the world at it but you still think it’s a little like being the best puppeteer in the world. Nice but not really something that’s serious or consequential.”  
  
Andy’s face was growing longer by the second. “That’s not what I think. I love you. I do respect you.”  
  
“I know you love me. I know you respect me and I know you respect what I’ve accomplished. But deep in your heart, you think it’s all a bit silly. Admit it.”  
  
Tears welled in Andy’s eyes and she shook her head, “No.”  
  
“Yes. And that’s okay. I don’t mind that.”  
  
This had gone somewhere really unexpected really quickly and Andy searched Miranda’s eyes but, no, they weren’t hurt. They were kind and loving.  
  
“But Miranda, it would hurt my feelings if I thought you didn’t respect what I do.”  
  
“I do respect what you do.”  
  
“Then how can you—“  
  
“What? Accept that you think my work is the lightest piece of fluff in your rather nebulously balanced scale of the weighty, worthwhile things in life? Easily enough. I don’t care. We love each other. I accepted your opinion a long time ago.”  
  
“I didn’t even say that’s my opinion!”  
  
“Fine. Tell me I’m wrong.”  
  
Andy thought for a few moments, then buried her head in Miranda’s shoulder and started to cry. “You hate me.”  
  
As Miranda rubbed soft circles on Andy’s back she kissed the side of her head, “Shhh. I didn’t want to make you cry. And why do you think I hate you?”  
  
“Because all I wanted to know was what’s going to happen with _Runway_ and you picked a fight with me.”  
  
“Did we just have a fight, my love?”  
  
The younger woman nodded into her shoulder.  
  
“No, I don’t think so. I just pointed out that I know what you really think about my profession. Look at me.” Andy pulled away and wiped her eyes as Miranda continued, “You were under the perception I didn’t know that, weren’t you?”  
  
“I don’t think I knew it.”  
  
“You see? I corrected your perception, yes?”  
  
A nod.  
  
“Understand this. I did not create my perception of your feelings out of the air. I perceived what you felt.”  
  
Miranda smiled sweetly, “But in the case of _Runway_ , _I_ create the perception. I’ve just thrown the industry off its axis and for a considerable amount of time they’ll perceive greater things in _Runway_ than ever before because I’ve told them with this issue to do so. To go back to your original question? You’re missing something vital, darling. The big build-up isn’t toward a point—the big build-up _is_ the point.”  
  
Andy huffed a bit like a child, which tugged at Miranda’s heart. “So all this mean talk was to make _that_ point?”  
  
“It wasn’t mean. It was true. How about this? I firmly believe that three-quarters of what comes out of your mouth politically is complete tripe. Are we even?”  
  
“But I already knew that.”  
  
“And I’ve just reconfirmed it and you must admit I’ve never called it tripe.”  
  
The younger woman thought about that, “Tripe. No. No, you haven’t. I guess we’re even.” She hugged Miranda and said, “I hate the paparazzi.”  
  
“Oh, that’s right. That’s where this started. Don’t think of them. They don’t matter. They’re taking pictures of us because we’re important. They’re not.”

Later, in bed, Andy understood that Miranda was expressing a sort of ‘no hard feelings’ with the gentle tenderness of their lovemaking. Afterward, when they were relaxing in each other’s arms, Andy gently pulled away and switched on her bedside table lamp. Miranda blinked as her eyes adjusted, “What are you doing, darling?”  
  
Andy moved back to her, propped her head up on one hand and ran the fingers of her other hand over Miranda’s soft skin. Their reconnection had allowed her to gain some equilibrium after their earlier conversation. She leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s cheek. “I want to tell you something.”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Yes. Right now.” She traced the woman’s collarbones with her fingers, “You’re so pretty.”  
  
“Thank you I’m sure, but you could have said that with the light off.”  
  
“That’s not what I wanted to tell you.”  
  
Miranda propped her head up on a pillow and looked at her lover. “Alright. Never say I’d deny you post-sexual conversation. Some women want to cuddle; others want to blind their lovers and talk.”  
  
The woman wasn’t really mad or even fussy and Andy knew it, just as she knew Miranda adored looking at her after they’d made love.  
  
“I wanted to tell you that you were right. After I got the job at the _Mirror_ , I was wildly excited. I was going to be a real journalist in a real newsroom in New York City. And I did think I was finally doing big, important work. I mean—not _really_ because you know the sort of stuff they give you when you’re new. City council meetings or the opening of a park or something. But the potential was there, you know?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
“It was what I’d always wanted to do, sweetie, what I’d dreamed of doing.”  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“I know you do. But you don’t know what I want to tell you and for this, you have to remember I never thought I’d see you again. Everyone at the _Mirror_ knew I came from _Runway_ and they were just like me—hard-journalism snobs. So they tried to make fun of it—a little or a lot—or make fun of you. But you know what?” She tapped Miranda’s nose.  
  
She paused before she continued running her hand over Miranda’s shoulder, down her arm, “I’d never let them, not even from day one, when it probably would have been smarter to just laugh along and get along. I just couldn’t. I knew how hard people work at _Runway_ and how much love and pride they put into it. I just couldn’t stand to hear clueless people talking shit about my magazine. Because I still thought of it as my magazine and I was proud of it. Proud of it even when I’d left it, left you and had started doing what I thought was more important. I wanted you to know that.”  
  
Miranda leaned forward and kissed her softly, “Thank you, Andy.”  
  
“You’re welcome. And I’ll double down. I’ll freely admit to you that probably most of the reason I don’t value fashion the way I might is because I don’t understand it. I mean, I don’t value plumbing one damned bit because I don’t understand it. I take a shower and flush the toilet without thinking about it, just like I put on clothes without thinking about them.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes glimmered, “One—that last? It shows. Two? Never use the word fashion and the phrase ‘flush the toilet’ in the same paragraph, unless you’re speaking of flushing what’s in that chamber of horrors in our closet.”  
  
Andy smiled into Miranda’s thoroughly relaxed, amused and loving face. “You love me. I know it.”  
  
“I much more than love you, Andrea, even though you’re a Philistine.”  
  
“Imagine that. Miranda Priestly sleeping with a Philistine.”  
  
“Sleeping’s not exactly what I have in mind right now. Turn off the light.”  
  
“Now we’re talking.”  
  
“We’re not doing that either.”

At just about that moment, Cassidy had run into Caroline’s room, flipped on the light and was shaking and trying to wake her moaning, thrashing sister. She shook Caroline harder, spoke louder, “Wake up! It’s a dream. Wake up!”  
  
Caroline’s eyes popped open and she jerked away fiercely.  
  
“It’s me, Caroline. It’s me. You were having a bad dream.”  
  
Caroline blinked her eyes, “Cassidy?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s me—you were having a dream. It was just a dream.”  
  
Caroline flopped back on her pillow. “Hoo boy. That was a bad one.”  
  
“Want me to get Mom—or Andy?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
Cassidy shifted onto the bed a little more. “Want to talk about it?”  
  
“Nope,” Caroline said as she sat up. “It’s no biggie.”  
  
“Sure it is, if it scared you.”  
  
“Thanks but I think I just wanna forget it.”  
  
Cassidy wanted to ask if she were sure about that but paused and said instead, “Okay. You want me to sleep with you?”  
  
“No, you don’t have to. I have to grow up sometime.”  
  
“You don’t have to grow up tonight. I’m staying.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever. Turn out the light.”  
  
After they’d situated themselves in the bed, Caroline said, “You do know I’ll have to learn to do this by myself someday, don’t you? I won’t always have Mom and Andy and you.”  
  
“You’ll always have me.”  
  
“No I won’t, silly. People grow up. Look at Sam and Andy. Not even in the same state.”  
  
“That’s weird to think,” Cassidy said as she took her sister’s hand, “especially because we’re….” She waited for Caroline to say it with her, “Genetically identical.”  
  
This was the phrase their mother had used when they were perhaps four years old. She explained the meaning of it, as best she could for their age, and they’d thought that was pretty cool. But the sound of the phrase itself was what they’d chosen to find smashingly, irresistibly funny. They no longer laughed but it still felt like a shared laugh and a hug to say it together.  
  
“You know what’s even weirder?”  
  
Cassidy blinked her eyes, already getting sleepy again, “What?”  
  
“We’re genetically identical and we’re still so different.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“We’re getting more different all the time.”  
  
Cassidy’s eyes popped open in the silence at the end of that sentence. For many months, this had been something continually on both of their minds and yet neither of them had voiced it.  
  
After a few moments, Cassidy put her head on her sister’s shoulder, “You’re the one who’s changing. I’m staying the same.”  
  
“I know that. I can’t help it. But you know what? Maybe you’re the real thing and I’m the knock-off.”  
  
“Doesn’t work that way,” she answered, “maybe you’re just growing up faster.”   
  
“I can’t. You’re the one who’s older and wiser.”  
  
“By two minutes.”  
  
“You can learn a lot in two minutes, Cass.”  
  
“Yeah? Like what?”  
  
“Like I love you and no matter how much I change, you’ll always be half of me and you’ll always be my best friend. See? That didn’t even take two minutes.”  
  
Cassidy put her arm around Caroline, “This won’t take two minutes either. You never could change so much I wouldn’t know you.”  
  
“You think? What if I changed into a…monkey or…ooh, even better? A python?”  
  
“Still know you.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Easy. You’d be the only python with blue eyes and red hair with a camera around its neck.”  
  
Caroline snickered and her voice sounded sleepier, “Do pythons even have necks? Where does a python’s neck end?”  
  
“Go to sleep, Caroline.”

The next day, Serena requested an emergency appointment with Miranda, one the editor dreaded.  
  
Miranda rubbed her temples as she waited for the woman’s arrival. She’d given this so much thought that even Andy might have been surprised had she told her, which she would not. She knew other people who felt as she did would say they were ashamed of themselves but she’d chosen to call her feelings ‘deeply disquieted.’  
  
The cover of _Runway_ was one thing but being put on that fucking skyscraper was quite another. It made her feel terribly indebted toward Serena. Ordinarily, this would have rankled her, but given the circumstances, having been made eight stories tall together made her feel protective toward the woman and like they were almost comrades in arms.  
  
As Serena arrived, Miranda glanced at her and said, “Shut the doors.”  
  
Serena did so, took a seat and the older woman was horrified to realize that there might be tears involved.  
  
“What’s wrong Serena?”  
  
“Well, a shorter list would be what’s right.”  
  
“Why don’t we start with what’s wrong.”  
  
“May I have permission to speak freely, Miranda, and not as your employee?”  
  
“Of course and I won’t speak as your employer.”  
  
“People recognize me on the street. People have asked me for autographs. Me! Autographs! What am I supposed to say?”  
  
“Sign or say no.”  
  
“Easy for you—you don’t care what people think and no one would dare ask you. You’re above all of it. I want a normal life. I want to walk in my neighborhood without people gawking. Emily and I had tickets for the theater tonight. You think I am going when I am eight stories high a block away?”  
  
“I said I was sorry about that.”  
  
“And I forgive you. But tell me, if you can, how to act when you actually do care not to hurt people’s feelings?”  
  
“May I be blunt?”  
  
“Are you ever not?”  
  
“People have been staring or gawking at you all of your life, Serena. People have been paying you unwanted, intrusive attention all of your life. As unfortunate as it may be, as gorgeous as you are, you can’t tell me that’s not true. What have you done up until now in those situations?”  
  
Serena shifted in her chair, “If they are just looking, I ignore them. If they speak, I excuse myself politely.”  
  
“How is this different? Is it because you think you’ve brought this on yourself by modeling?”  
  
Serena stared at the floor. “There may be some truth in that.”  
  
“Well, you haven’t. It’s a damned job. They don’t own you because they’ve seen a picture of you. If you don’t want to hurt people’s feelings about autographs, keep a Sharpie on you and sign your damned name. It’ll take two seconds and then move on politely. Before you ask? No. It is not impolite to refuse photographs. And go to the damned theater. Ignore New York and for the most part New York ignores you. Now, what else?”  
  
“These damned modeling agencies. They won’t take no.”  
  
“They’ll take no from me.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that. I am an adult.”  
  
“Serena?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“If I happen to mention that I won’t be using the models from any agency approaching you, I think my no’s bigger than yours, don’t you? Literally and figuratively, by the way.”  
  
Serena tried not to smile as she said, “You have a point.”  
  
“Anything else?”  
  
“These places—they call wanting me to model or speak for charity and I feel like—“  
  
“No. Absolutely not. Are you a model?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then you don’t model for charity. If you want to give money or time to charity, give it but don’t do something that makes you so uncomfortable.”  
  
“Why not? You made me.”  
  
Miranda took a deep breath. Okay. She’d known this was coming.  
  
“I could quibble about whether I actually forced you to model but that wouldn’t be fair to you. I deeply regret doing it, Serena. I don’t regret the pictures and the beauty but I completely regret manipulating you into something so against your nature. I wasn’t listening, as I so often don’t, when I see something I want for my magazine. You told me again and again how you felt and I simply didn’t listen. I apologize.”  
  
A few moments passed as they just looked at each other.  
  
“My God. No wonder you had me shut the doors. You admit you’re wrong and apologize?”  
  
“That’s my limit. Andrea and the children could tell you that.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“If it’s not too personal, may I ask how Emily is taking all of this? Andrea would like to know.”  
  
“Oh my God. They are such children, never talking.”  
  
Serena smiled gently as she thought about the question. “Emily is a little overawed by it, I think. But that is like her. You know how she is about _Runway_. That damned video you gave us is her screensaver on our computer at home. And of course you must know she’s far more awed by you than by me.”  
  
Miranda gave the slightest tilt of her head as an affirmation.  
  
“To answer your question? She is good. So? I try to remember it has pleased my English and to think it was worth it.”  
  
“I hope you’ll remember it that way. Now—anything else?”  
  
“No. I think that’s all.”  
  
“Good. I’ll put out the word to the agencies and you should become as popular as the bubonic plague very quickly.”  
  
“I would appreciate it.”  
  
They both stood and Miranda held out her hand, “Thank you.”  
  
Serena shook it warmly and said, “You’re welcome. There was very little pleasure in it but what there was, was mine.”

* * *

Emily, who would not chew her nails if held at the point of a gun, dearly wanted to. A closed door to Miranda’s office was so rare as to be counted on the fingers of her two hands. She knew Serena despised all of this, and especially the billboard, even if the woman smiled and laughed for her sake. And for Serena’s sake and because it would wound her girlfriend if she’d noticed, she pretended not to notice. Because what could she say? I adore it—I’m completely enthralled by it even though it’s torture for you? How could anyone say that? She felt so ashamed to be so divided—between the beauty of the images and the pain she knew they’d caused.  
  
Her thoughts were instantly interrupted by the opening of Miranda’s doors. As a smiling Serena emerged, she answered the question in Emily’s eyes. “I am fine. And we’re going to the theater tonight.”  
  
“We are?”  
  
“Yes. And if you want? We’ll go early so, if you’d like, we can look at our sign again.”  
  
She looked into Serena’s eyes for the sadness and anxiety that had been there for days. No. Nothing but love.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really. Get to work, English.”  
  
Almost immediately Miranda popped out of her office, “Emily? Get me anyone from Lagerfeld possessing a prefrontal cortex.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.” She paused and added, “Thank you, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda regarded her coolly. “Don’t thank me until you see the play. Don’t you know the play’s the thing? Lagerfeld?”  
  
“Right.”

* * *

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

What now, Andy thought as she watched her phone winking and blinking at her. Real business? Or one of the hundreds of people wanting more information about her relationship with Miranda? She nearly laughed as she suddenly realized she probably needed an assistant at this point.  
  
“ _Mirror_. Sachs.”  
  
As she listened, it was neither business or gossip. It was Caroline’s principal. She listened. Oh shit.

* * *

 **One Hour Earlier**  
  
Juan Carlo was laughing and sitting on top of a picnic bench in the schoolyard. “You call me Juan Carlo and J.C. and Jace—which is it?”  
  
Cassidy looked him over. “You sort of look like different names at different times.”  
  
“Yeah, dude.” Caroline agreed as she finished a juice box, “Just be glad you only have a few names and there aren’t two of you like with us.” With that, she pulled Cassidy to her and kissed her on the cheek, something she very rarely did, much less at school. It made her sister blush.  
  
“There aren’t two of you. You’re really different.”  
  
“Good answer Jace.” Caroline tapped her sister’s cheek, “I’m the embarrassing one.”  
  
“You could never embarrass me, Caroline.”  
  
Caroline smirked and said, “I just did, big sister, and gimme a few years. You won’t want to know me.”  
  
Cassidy kissed Caroline on her cheek. “Never happen.”  
  
They were all grinning at each other when they heard, “Hey, Castillo?”  
  
They turned toward a voice belonging to someone they all loathed. Toby Kadinsky.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Can you swim?”  
  
Juan Carlo paused before he answered, “Yes.”  
  
What Toby said next shocked him. What Caroline did next shocked him even more. He didn’t have a second to think before the girl had punched Toby so hard that he’d fallen to the ground. She leaped on him and was beating the boy soundly before he and Cassidy had the presence of mind to pull her off of him, leaving him bleeding and crying.  
  
They struggled to handle her nearly unsuccessfully as she shouted, “Oh yeah! That’s it! Cry BITCH. You talk to my brother like that again and you’ll get more of the same, motherfucker! But if you talk to my sister? My _sister_? You’ll never walk again, you lousy piece of—“  
  
Cassidy clapped her hand over Caroline’s mouth as she watched a teacher hastening toward them.

Miranda felt a surge of irritation as she looked at her cell. She’d told Andy this would be a murderous day for her. For Andy, however, and unlike for her two husbands she did pick up. “Yes?”  
  
“We have to go to school now.”  
  
“I’m sure that sentence has meaning somewhere.”  
  
“Caroline is in the principal’s office. She’s assaulted a classmate and we need to get to the fucking school now.”  
  
“What? Caroline assaulted—what? The principal’s office called you first?”  
  
“Yes. Hello? I’m a contact for our children and I assume they’d think they could get through to me and I’d actually come.”  
  
There was a pause before Miranda said in a decidedly cooler tone, “I need no reminders of my maternal deficiencies, Andrea. I keep them tucked away in my heart and you know it.”  
  
Andy’s voice immediately softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just…it’s Caroline and she’s going to be suspended and she’s probably angry and really scared.”  
  
“Suspended? We’ll see. I’ll push everything back. Roy and I will pick you up in 15 minutes.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“For being a mother? I am, you know. Their mother.”  
  
“Jesus. Sorry again. Please come get me. I’ll feel better once I see you.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
As Miranda rang off, she realized Andy was having her own first true maternal crisis, which actually warmed her heart. “Emily?”

* * *

Caroline’s arms were crossed over her chest and she was silent, glaring daggers at everything, Ms. Jenkin’s secretary Sylvia, Sylvia’s desk, even the carpet. Cassidy and Juan Carlo were waiting with her and Cassidy had decided this must be because they were…what had she heard on TV? Yeah. Material witnesses. Toby had gotten back from a trip to the school nurse, and his lip looked a little better now that it wasn’t bleeding. It was a fat lip, though, and Cassidy could see he was going to have a black eye.  
  
His mother opened the door and rushed to his side. The twins knew Sheila Kadinsky and hated her just as much as they hated her son. Hated her as much as their mom did, which was really saying something. The only worthwhile thing the woman had ever done in their opinions was to knock their mother off the radar during the Stephen divorce when her husband, Tobias Sr., had gotten the book thrown at him for embezzlement.  
  
As Sheila cooed over her son, Cassidy glanced at Caroline.  
  
“She won’t come,” Caroline whispered.  
  
“She will,” Cassidy hissed.  
  
“Oh, right. Who? Andy?”  
  
Cassidy wasn’t stupid enough to even try to lie. “Maybe. Or Mom. One of them.”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“Yes you do.”  
  
Juan Carlo was nearly beside himself with worry, having never had reason to be sitting in a principal’s office for something he’d done or waiting for what was very bad trouble for a friend. He saw that Caroline wasn’t in the mood to take sympathy or consideration, so he took Cassidy’s hand and whispered, “It will be fine. You’ll see. I will call my _papi_ if we need to.”  
  
Cassidy squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “Thanks, Jace.”  
  
At that moment, the door swung open again, with Andy following a Miranda in full battle mode. The twins and Juan Carlo brightened visibly. Miranda nodded at them and acknowledged the others in the room as they took seats, “Sheila, Tobias, Jr.”  
  
Miranda turned toward the desk and astonished Andy by not even pretending not to know a name, “Sylvia, isn’t it?”  
  
The young pretty blonde sank into herself, actually quailing before saying, “Yes, Ms. Priestly.”  
  
“I suppose we could begin? Surely Avery has other things on her schedule. I know I do. She called this meeting. I assume she’s ready for it.”  
  
“Yes, Ms. Priestly. It may be a few minutes, actually. Ms. Jenkins is on a very important call.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure she is, if that something involves me. The sooner the few minutes pass, however, the better for all of us Sylvia.”  
  
As Sylvia nodded and left the room to announce them, Sheila said very quietly, “I see you’re still the self-involved bitch, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda answered even more quietly. “There are children in the room, Sheila. Or hadn’t you noticed?”  
  
“Like they haven’t heard that particular word, being your children.”  
  
Juan Carlo jumped to his feet and said with the considerable fire of his father, “With respect, you must not talk to Ms. Miranda or any woman in this way in my presence.”  
  
Shelia looked at the earnest little boy with disdainful amusement and turned to Miranda, “And who’s this? Your maid’s son?”  
  
“Oh, hell no. That’s it!” Caroline leaped up as Juan Carlo and Cassidy grabbed her again and Andy scrambled to help.  
  
Miranda stood and said sharply, “Children. Andrea. Everyone please be seated and calm down.” And oddly enough or perhaps not, everyone in her family immediately did.  
  
“To answer your question, Sheila, Juan Carlo is the son of two of my best friends in this world. For all intents and purposes, my interest in his welfare is exactly that I’d have toward a son. In that sense, you have just cast an implied aspersion upon my son’s ethnicity. But let’s table that for the time being until we deal with the altercation between,” she made a cursory look around the room until her eyes landed upon, “I’d imagine Tobias, Jr. who does look a bit the worse for wear and my daughter, who looks curiously unscathed. Frankly shocking considering the fact that Tobias, Jr. is such a big, strapping boy.”  
  
The boy in question who was quite a bit taller and heavier than the other children in the room had, along with his mother, turned bright red with mortification but they both stared at Miranda with pure hatred. She smiled down at Toby. “My, my. What baleful eyes you have, Tobias Jr. Of course, I know you prefer to be called Toby but your name does so remind me of your dear father, who knows quite a bit about bail, doesn’t he? Or lack thereof?”  
  
Andy, who’d been listening to this in a sort of sinking horror, stepped up and put her hand on Miranda’s arm, whispering “That’s enough. He’s a child.”  
  
Miranda patted Andy’s hand as she looked into Sheila’s eyes and said, quietly, “Quite right. So I’ll keep my thoughts to myself and you’ll keep yours to yourself. I’m sure you’ll agree, Sheila. Because to be perfectly honest...” She looked Toby over, “If you ask for it and I have every belief your son must have as you are even now,  we Priestlys will always throw a harder punch. I mean that completely figuratively of course. Do we understand each other?”  
  
Sheila forced a swallow and nodded as Toby looked around the room. The woman with that bitch Miranda looked really concerned and even Juan Carlo looked upset. Two sets of anxious brown eyes. The blue eyes of the Priestlys were different than the brown yet they were all the same. Fierce and gloating.  
  
Sylvia opened the door, “Ms. Jenkins will see you now.”  
  
“How kind of her,” Miranda said as she led the way into the woman’s office. Andy fought the urge to roll her eyes. This was going to be one hell of a run through and it was actually Andy who helped Sylvia bring enough chairs into the office so that everyone could sit down. Why not and what the hell she thought. Once an assistant, always…  
  
As they all took their seats, Miranda said with what Andy considered her _Runway_ smile, “Avery, always a pleasure to see you but a pity considering the circumstances. We’ve all met each other so shall we skip the social niceties and get to said circumstances?”  
  
Avery Jenkins was in her late 40s and had been doing her job long enough to be quite used to the wealthy parents of children attending her school attempting to bully her. Miranda Priestly was, oddly enough, not of that class. Miranda was a shark. Powerful, graceful and completely intent on what she wanted, not on what or who didn’t matter. She couldn’t be bothered to hurt things she did not need to. A shark but never a bully. Avery found sharks refreshing.  
  
“Hello, again Miranda. Sheila. Andy.” Avery smiled at all of them, including the children before saying, “First of all, let’s establish one thing. We have a zero tolerance policy for violence at this school. Caroline has assaulted Toby with many witnesses and you can see that he’s been injured.”  
  
“Indeed I can,” Miranda replied.  
  
“I’ll sue you and your brat, Priestly,” Sheila suddenly interjected. Avery took a deep breath before Miranda answered calmly, “Please do. I’m sure it will do wonders for Tobias Jr. Please take pictures of him today and of my daughter. He’d love having the tabloids show the physical proof he was beaten by a little girl. And seriously, who could blame him? What young man wouldn’t?”  
  
Andy sighed as Sheila sputtered and Toby hissed, “Mom! You can’t do that! That would suck so bad!”  
  
Miranda merely smiled at Avery who almost…almost smiled back at her before continuing, “You can both discuss these sorts of things at your leisure. We’re here to discuss the ramifications of—“  
  
Caroline piped up. “What do I have to say to get out of this boring meeting? Something like I beat him down like the complete wuss he is? I did it so suspend me already.”  
  
Andy put her hand on Caroline’s arm and was actually a bit surprised that Caroline didn’t shrug it off.  
  
Avery continued, “That certainly simplifies matters, Caroline.”  
  
“Not for me,” Miranda replied. “I’d like to hear what precipitated this incident. Caroline has, in my memory, hit someone exactly once. Her father John and with her pacifier when she was six months old. Could you tell us what happened, sweetheart?”  
  
Caroline looked at her Mom and mumbled, “No. I’d just rather get punished and be done with it.” Cassidy took her hand.  
  
Before Miranda could say anything, Andy gently squeezed Caroline’s arm, “You can tell us, sweetie. We love you—just tell us.”  
  
Caroline’s chin wobbled a bit. She was going to cry and she couldn’t stand that.  
  
Juan Carlo saw it and he knew it and he stood up. “I will tell you what happened. Caroline and Cassidy and I were talking and Toby came up to us and asked if I could swim. I said I could and he laughed and said ‘That figures—you’re a wetback.’ And that is when Caroline hit him. She did it for me.”  
  
And just like that, within seconds, the room chilled against the Kadinskys and Sheila knew it. “That’s all? That’s just a silly schoolyard taunt!”  
  
“Yeah—and a really interesting one. Ms. Jenkins, do you have a zero tolerance policy on racial epithets?”  
  
“As a matter of fact I do and a it's a very personal one, Andy. Caroline and Toby,  you’re both suspended for three days. Your behavior was completely unacceptable.”  
  
“But Ms. Jenkins—“  
  
“Yes, Juan Carlo.”  
  
“It’s just a stupid word a stupid person would use. I don’t care. I’m proud to have American parents born in Mexico. Can’t you just tell Caroline and Toby not to do it again? It’s very hard to know they both can’t come to school because of me.”  
  
Miranda held up one hand to keep Avery from speaking and reached for Juan Carlo’s hand with the other. “Come here.”  
  
He dutifully moved closer and she ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s not your fault. Yes, it was just a word and a very stupid one. But Caroline can’t hit people for words. And people cannot call you stupid words. Not those kinds of words. We all have to learn how to deal with people who try to hurt us. Do you think I ever hit people who hurt me?”  
  
He shook his head solemnly, “No, Ms. Miranda. I know you would never.”  
  
“You know people say many terrible things about me, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh yes. I read them.”  
  
“I don’t care. Just as you don’t care. Even when Shei…Ms. Kadinsky said something about you that was bad just a few minutes ago, you didn’t get upset. But you defended me when she called me something that was just a word. Didn’t you?”  
  
He looked down at the ground, “Yes. But that is my duty as a man.”  
  
She refused to smile at this, “Exactly. It’s our duty as family to protect each other  but we have to learn the best ways to do that. You’re very young and you’ll learn more and better ways as you get older. Until then, let’s just agree that it’s not your fault, okay?”  
  
“Yes, Ms. Miranda.”  
  
“Very well.” She patted Juan Carlo on the shoulder as she said, “So we’re agreed on the terms, Avery, and this meeting is over.”  
  
Avery nearly laughed, not even caring that the meeting had always been on the other woman’s terms, “Yes Miranda. Meeting adjourned. Three days for both Caroline and Toby. Do we understand each other, Sheila?”  
  
“I understand you must be in this woman’s pocket.”  
  
“If that’s what you’ve taken from this, you have an interesting and very personal universe. I’ll see you, Caroline and Toby, in three days. Thank you, everyone, for coming.”  
  
As Sheila and Toby hastily left the office, Andy ruffled Caroline’s hair and said, “I guess you’re coming with us, jailbird.”  
  
Caroline suddenly laughed and said, “I know right? Sucks to be me!” She quickly turned and kissed Cassidy on the cheek and play punched Juan Carlo. “Have a good rest of the day.”  
  
Juan Carlo said very soberly, “Thank you for defending me as your brother.”  
  
“You’ll always be my brother, Jace. Watch. You’ll see.”

* * *

Andy reflected, as Roy was turning on onto a street to drop them at a new restaurant, that it had taken nearly one month for the excitement over the cover, the billboard—all of it—to die down. Much longer than she had expected and which Miranda addressed in this way, “How could I know my appearance on a magazine cover would coincide with a shocking display of probity on the part of the usual suspects in tabloid fodder?”  
  
How indeed, Andy supposed. It was nice to get out for a casual lunch, their first in weeks. It was a new restaurant and, because the chef was an important enough acquaintance that Miranda would consent to dine, he was not so important as to be able to cajole her into an opening night. They both knew he’d front-load his lunch bookings for the day with people who might be suitably impressed with her appearance.  
  
Miranda was in a particularly foul mood and greeted Andy with a, “This is a miserable idea,” as she entered the car and then retreated into her Blackberry.  
  
Andy sighed, then offered, “You know, we don’t have to go anywhere. We can get a burger in a drive-through somewhere.”  
  
The older woman didn’t even look up. “Yes, why don’t we count the drive-throughs in Manhattan, Andrea.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes at Roy, who was looking at her with sympathy through the rearview.  
  
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean—a street vendor. Take-out. Whatever.”  
  
“Yes, a hot dog with light mustard, hold the salmonella, extra botulism.”  
  
“I’ve lived to tell the tale many a time.”  
  
“Now that you mention it, you are remarkably pale, Andrea. Perhaps that’s the cause.”  
  
Andy huffed, “Jesus! Fine! And why even bother inviting me if you’re going to be glued to your Crackberry?”  
  
Miranda immediately put her phone in her purse. “There. Now. You have my complete attention. I’m sure you know I have absolutely nothing to do but go to lunch. Literally nothing. I’m surprised I even went into the building today.”  
  
“You have two people to keep track of just how busy you are and yet YOU scheduled this lunch on this day at this time, so don’t take it out on me, buddy.”  
  
There was a loaded silence. “Buddy? I see. I’m relegated to buddy status now?”  
  
Andy actually was more than a bit miffed but she’d learned where to pick her battles. This wasn’t a battle. It was only a skirmish and one she didn’t have to continue. It had taken time and hadn’t been necessarily all that fun to learn the difference and to learn to deal. She slid over in the seat and took the woman’s hand in hers and put her head on her shoulder, “Of course not, sweetheart.”  
  
Miranda snorted lightly but ran her thumb over Andy’s hand as she stared out the window.  
  
Roy looked back at Andy and gave her a quick wink, which she returned.

“Good God,” Miranda whispered as they were following the host, who’d nearly genuflected at their appearance, toward their table.  
  
“What? I think it’s sort of pretty.”  
  
“You would.”  
  
“Be nice.”  
  
“I’m the soul of nicety.”  
  
“Where? In hell?”  
  
Andy was pleased to see the corners of Miranda’s mouth lift at this as they took their seats in a table in the middle of a packed room and the host raced away to get the chef. “Why not just raise a dais and put us on display?”  
  
Even Andy couldn’t dispute the comment. Only that one touch could have made them more visible to everyone in the restaurant.  
  
“Welcome to the dog and pony show,” Miranda whispered.  
  
“Or fashion show for that matter.”  
  
“Touché. I find you a bit testy today, Andrea.”  
  
Andy’s mouth dropped open in consternation just as the chef and owner, Jeremy Benjamin, arrived at their table.  
  
“Jeremy,” Miranda said as she accepted his air kisses, “I don’t believe you’ve met my fiancée, Andrea Sachs.”  
  
He took her hand and murmured, “No, I haven’t. Obviously my loss,” before kissing it.  
  
Not bad, Andy thought. A good-looking guy could get away with relatively mediocre lines and at that moment Christian popped into her mind. She smiled as she watched Miranda do something at which the woman was almost supernaturally accomplished if she chose to but rarely did, pretending to be interested in the numbingly mundane.  
  
After Miranda assured him the restaurant was gorgeous and that, of course, their menu was entirely his choice, he sped back to the kitchen.  
  
“You almost looked like you meant that, sweetheart.”  
  
Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I did look like I meant that. I’m a master.”  
  
“Which makes me the mistress?”  
  
The older woman reached across the table and tapped the ring on her left hand, “You’ve had an upgrade.”  
  
“Good answer.” Andy looked around the room again, “They certainly seem to be getting off to a good start.”  
  
“Yes. They have us as a floor show today.”  
  
Andy opened the menu and began to peruse it when she felt Miranda grabbing her wrist painfully tightly. She looked up at the woman whose eyes were suddenly extraordinarily wide as she hissed, “Get under the fucking table, Andy.”  
  
Andy half laughed, half whispered, “What?”  
  
“I said get under the fucking table right now! Do NOT come out!”  
  
With that ferocious and ridiculous request, Andy realized her time at _Runway_ had cemented some part of her autonomic reflexes because she immediately ducked under the table and could only see through her vantage point under the draping of the tablecloth that Miranda had stood.  
  
Then she heard a general uproar, a few screams and Miranda’s voice cutting through it all.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see we have a bit of a situation. Please stay right where you are.”  
  
Instead of a situation, the other patrons saw a wild-eyed young woman brandishing a gun at Miranda. As Miranda stepped forward, the woman halted 20 feet away before screaming, “Don’t move any closer you bitch!”  
  
Miranda nodded, “Now that we’ve established you know me and that this is personal, Alicia, I’m going to remind you of something. No one else here has anything to do with this. They need to assume positions on the floor so they won’t be hurt. Is that amenable to you?”  
  
Alicia appeared briefly stunned by this request and her hand shook as she shouted, “Everyone else on the floor!”  
  
The patrons scrambled to comply and Andy felt like her heart would pound out of her chest as she watched, from under the table cloth, the faces of the few terrified people she could see assuming positions at her level on the floor.  
  
“Thank you, Alicia Faye Bowden.” The shock on Alicia’s face made Miranda smile, “And of course I know and remember quite a bit about you. What can I do for you today?”  
  
“You ruined my life!”  
  
Miranda tilted her head. “Did I? How so?”  
  
“I can’t get a job anywhere!”  
  
“You exaggerate. If you cast your mind back, you asked with your behavior only that _publishing_ be closed to you in New York. So I closed it. Cause. Effect. Or don’t you remember your part in this?”  
  
Alicia stabbed her gun in the air as she screamed, “Shut up! Shut up! Your little bitch Andy’s not so high and mighty now is she? Hiding under a table behind an old woman? Get out here, Andy! Right this fucking second!”  
  
Miranda’s voice was as calm as Andy had ever heard it. “Alicia. There are two things that won’t happen today. One. You’re not going to hurt Andrea. Not one hair on her head. Two. You’re not going to hurt anyone else in this restaurant.”  
  
Alicia, who’d expected and wanted abject terror, was scarlet with fury, “You fucking BITCH! Fuck you and your fucking bullshit.”  
  
“Well stated. Pulitzer Prize here you come. To continue, Alicia Faye Bowden. Three things actually may happen today and you can take your choice. One. You can put the gun down and end this farce but I suspect you’re too histrionic for that option. Case in point. You’re holding a roomful of people at gunpoint. Two. You can shoot yourself. I’d be all for it but you’re far too narcissistic or you would have already done that rather than this. Three. You can shoot me. If that’s your choice, I’d prefer you go ahead because I have a meeting with Zac Posen at four. And remember, I’ve been shot before and, frankly, by a woman wearing better shoes.”  
  
Andy, who was shaking with horror, pounded the floor at this taunt even as she heard the abrupt bark of a gunshot. She was moving to clamber out during the shrieks that followed it when all sound was silenced by a roar from Miranda, “QUIET! NOBODY MOVE! ANDREA SACHS DO NOT MOVE!”  
  
Although she barely flinched, the wound in Miranda’s left arm was curiously and bitingly more painful than her other experience of being shot. She watched in fascination for a few seconds as the blood blossomed quickly on the sleeve of her white shirt. She turned to Alicia, from whose suddenly incredibly pale face that blood could almost seem to have been originating. “I believe the technical term for this is ‘ouch’, Alicia.”  
  
Alicia’s hand was shaking very badly now, “Are you even fucking HUMAN?”  
  
Miranda shrugged, “Verdict’s out. Put the gun down. The police will come in now—and they will kill you if you have a gun. Put it down.”  
  
Alicia faltered and Miranda said very quietly, “Put the gun on the table and live. Keep it and die. The choice is yours.”  
  
Alicia put the gun on the table next to her and Miranda said, “Men? Someone? Please hold Ms. Bowden. No one touch that gun. Someone please tell New York’s finest they needn’t storm the place and for God’s sake keep your hands in the air while doing so. Until they do come in, personally, I’d stay on the floor.” As she watched a patron and server grab Alicia, she continued, “In fact, I think I’ll take a seat myself.”  
  
As she sank into her chair, she said, “All clear, Andrea.”  
  
Andy emerged with a reddened and tear-streaked face and looked at the woman bleeding before her, “Oh my God, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda nodded, “Yes, yes. Very dramatic. I need you to apply pressure up here above this ridiculous wound.”  
  
"Oh for God's sake," Andy summoned the presence of mind to call out,“ Hello! Help? Doctors in the house?”  
  
One man leapt up and rushed forward. “John Franklin. Sorry. Not even thinking. I was texting my wife.”  
  
He looked at the wound and said. “Okay—that looks like a fracture and it’s hit an artery.” He grabbed a napkin and clamped the woman’s arm above the wound far tighter than Andy would have dreamed of.  
  
As police swarmed into the building, Franklin shouted, “Need a bus! Right now.”  
  
One of the officers nodded, “Got a couple out here.”  
  
“Good. Thank you, Dr. Franklin. Andrea, I believe our ride’s outside.”  
  
“Miranda, they’ll bring in a stretcher.”  
  
“For whom? Has someone fainted? Get my purse and give me my glasses. I can walk.”  
  
“Ms. Priestly—you’re losing a lot of blood. You need to be horizontal and still.”  
  
“Yes, Dr. Franklin. I can feel that. And I will be both once I walk out of here.”  
  
Before he could say anything, Andy said, “No point in arguing.”  
  
“Okay. But coming with you.”  
  
“Fine.” Andy and Dr. Franklin helped her stand and as they passed a subdued and cuffed Alicia, Miranda paused.  
  
“One word with the prisoner?” The policeman holding the young woman looked at Miranda and at her blood dripping on the floor and said, “Sure thing.”  
  
Miranda leaned toward Alicia and whispered, “That was your one free shot. Approach my family again and prison will be the least of your worries. Look me in the eyes.” The woman hesitated but did. “I’ve warned you twice and you’ve done the wrong thing twice. And failed. Black balled first time. Prison second time. Your third strike? You will be _out_ , Alicia Faye Bowden. And over. Even a person of your limited journalistic imagination might conjure up what I mean by that.”  
  
Miranda put her sunglasses on before Andy and Dr. Franklin escorted her to the waiting ambulance. Despite still being overcome by fear and worry for Miranda, Andy couldn’t help but sigh as the paparazzi shouted at them. Another round of press.  
  
Which reminded her of the kids and as Miranda situated herself on the stretcher, she said, “Yes. The children. Call Emily and Magdalena.”

“Andy? Where in bloody hell are you two? Roy is beside himself!”  
  
As Emily listened, her legs gave way and she plopped down into her chair. “You have to be kidding me! Again?! Is she…oh my God…is she…”  
  
“Em—c’mon—on the way to hospital here. But she’s shot in the arm, okay? We have a doctor with us. Should be fine.”  
  
Oddly enough, the relief of that made Emily suddenly feel the desire to bang her head on her desk. “What do you need?”  
  
“Call the school and call Maggie. Get her to the school to tell the kids. Tell them she’ll be fine. And push everything back. At least a week.”  
  
Emily heard a muffled “Nonsense!” from Miranda but Andy reiterated. “At least a week.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“Thanks, Em.”  
  
“Tell her I’m very… _we’re_ all very concerned.”  
  
“Will do.”

* * *

Susan Allen was laughing at a nurse’s joke, writing notes in a patient’s chart and scratching the back of her calf with the shoe on the other foot when something about a call from an ambulance en route she actually barely registered hearing brought her up sharp. A fifty-year old woman with a gunshot wound. Not all that uncommon, unfortunately. Which was why her colleague Jason was startled as she jostled him out of the way and grabbed the mike. “Patient’s name?”  
  
“Repeat?”  
  
“Patient. Name.”  
  
“Copy that. Priestly.”  
  
“Son of a bitch. She’s mine, Jason.”  
  
“But, Susan, I’m—“  
  
“Not treating her.  I am..” She patted him on the arm as she looked at the board. They were fairly clear—everything under control and nothing pressing for the moment. “Trust me, Jason. You’ll thank me later.”  
  
She announced, “VIP incoming, people.” She listened to the transmission from the ambulance and thanked God there was a doctor with Miranda so she could cut to the chase.  
  
“Tell Vasquez to scrub and who do we have on vascular?”  
  
“Combs.”  
  
“Fine. Get his ass in the saddle too.”  
  
As they rolled Miranda in, the only thing paler than the woman on the stretcher was Andy. “We meet again. You two are nothing but trouble. Siddown, Andy before you fall down. I’ve got her.”  Andy nodded numbly as they wheeled Miranda away.  
  
After Dr. Franklin relayed the latest before departing, Susan smiled down at Miranda through her face shield as she cut her blouse off, “Sorry about the duds, but a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”  
  
“It was time. Nearly last season.”  
  
“Doctor Allen,” one of the nurses said.  
  
“Yeah—I see. She needs volume, folks. Push it. Type her for protocol but I know she’s AB-. Let’s get that going.”  
  
Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered, “You remember my blood type?”  
  
“Rare bird—rare blood type. This may hurt, okay?”  
  
“You mean it doesn’t yet?”  
  
Dr. Allen had to admire Miranda’s fortitude as she inspected the wound, which had to be extremely painful.  
  
“What does it look like, doctor?”  
  
“One hell of a gunshot wound, Miranda. You know most policemen never get shot? Ever? What the hell are you doing out there?”  
  
“Saving the world from bad fashion. A dangerous job, evidently.”  
  
“No kidding. Well, luckily you had a doctor onboard so I’ve got everything I need. You’re off to x-ray and then straight into surgery. I have an orthopedic and vascular surgeon salivating and sharpening their scalpels even as we speak.”  
  
Although used to Dr. Allen’s sense of humor, her team was stunned by this comment. Their patient took it well. “As long as they’re surgeons and not my board members, I suppose I’ll survive. Tell Andrea, will you?”  
  
“You’ll survive. Promise. And I’ll talk to Andy. See you on the flip side when you wake up.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“No problem. Oh, Miranda? What color for your cast?”  
  
As injured as Miranda was, Dr. Allen nearly laughed watching the woman’s eyes widen at the question. “There’ll be a color involved in my cast?”  
  
“Sure. Hot pink? Electric orange? Lime-green?”  
  
“Something tasteful.” Miranda glared at her and said in a low, cool voice, “See to it.”  
  
Holy shit, the doctor thought as Miranda closed her eyes and her team wheeled her away. She left the room to apprise Andy of the situation and to ask, quite earnestly now, what color might be tasteful for a cast.

* * *

 


	29. Chapter 29

* * *

Emily looked into the hospital conference room and saw the usual horde of fashion reporters as well as a healthy number of major news players. She was thinking, as she often did while watching reporters surrounding Miranda, that she much preferred dismissing people over the telephone and that it would nauseate her to have to address them en masse. She felt Dr. Allen looking in over her shoulder, “Emily? I gotta say, _that’s_ a lot of prime reporting beef on the hoof.”  
  
“Not that I’d blame you, doctor, but please tell me you’re not getting cold feet.”  
  
“Nah. Not a bit. But I’m running this gig, right? Not them?”  
  
Emily felt a jolt of relief. “Absolutely. Make your statement and answer as few questions as you can get away with.”  
  
“I can get away with one hell of a lot. Ask my mama.”  
  
As Dr. Allen walked out to the podium set in the middle of one side of the room, the lights and cameras went up.  
  
“Evening, folks. I’m Dr. Susan Allen, Emergency Medicine. I’m here to give you an update on Miranda Priestly’s condition but it’s going to be general because she has a family and friends who’ll hear it better from her or Andy.”  
  
“Ms. Priestly was brought into our ER at 1.45 PM, having suffered a gunshot wound to her upper left arm. The gunshot fractured her arm and caused damage to some blood vessels surrounding her humerus, as well as some minor nerve damage. A team of surgeons, Dr. Julio Vasquez, Dr. Daniel Combs and Dr. Mary Johannson, have repaired her arm and she’s resting comfortably in very good condition in our post-op. She needed them all—ortho, vascular and a late-in-the-game neurologist but barring any complications, we expect her to make a full recovery with no ongoing functional deficits. Long story short? She’s plenty tough and should be just fine.”  
  
“Dr. Allen?”  
  
“That’s my name.”  
  
“Can you tell us anything more about the events leading up to the gunshot?”  
  
“Nope. I’m a doctor, not a detective. The gunshot wound is my purview, not what led up to it. No more questions like that, please.”  
  
“Okay. You mentioned Andy. That means Andy Sachs, right? She came in with Miranda today?”  
  
“Yep. Andy was with her during the incident and gave me permission to say that she’s here.”  
  
“Have you treated either of them before?”  
  
“I treat patients who come into my ER confidentially, as is mandated by law.”  
  
“But you know Andy, don’t you? You’ve treated Andy, haven’t you?”  
  
“I know Andy as Miranda’s partner.”  
  
“You treated Miranda when she was shot before, didn’t you? We know she was here.”  
  
“Speculate away, sir.”  
  
Another reporter took up the thread, “Andy was injured months ago and must have been treated somewhere and we’re thinking it was here.”  
  
“News to me, ma’am—but I suppose news is your business. If you don’t have any real questions, that’s about all I have to say.”  
  
“Will she have a scar?”  
  
Dr. Allen turned her head sharply toward the question. “What? Who asked that?”  
  
A young man held up his hand and looked a little less sure of himself when he saw the doctor glaring at him.  
  
“What’d you say?”  
  
“Will she have a scar?”  
  
“What kind of damn fool question is that and why would you even ask it?”  
  
Being challenged was new to the reporter but he stood a bit straighter, “Well, she’s Miranda Priestly. She’s all about perfection. Not so perfect now, right?”  
  
Susan Allen took a deep breath, “You picked exactly the wrong girl to ask that question, mister.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“But nothing. Do you know Miranda Priestly? Have you met her?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No. Right. So shut up, greenhorn. As for that asinine question? What do you think? She was shot and had three surgeons poking around in her arm for five hours. Try to remember you’re not just talking about a story. You’re talking about an injured human being, someone with a family and friends who love her. But hey, you know what? I suppose if you’re candy-assed enough to be asking about Miranda’s injury from a fashion point of view? I can predict she won’t decide sleeveless is out because of this. And heads up, junior?”  
  
The reporter gulped.  
  
“If you met her sleeveless? I promise you’d be too busy piddling yourself to notice her scar.”  
  
Dr. Allen smiled at the chuckling crowd, “That’s it. Miranda’s doing great and, barring the unforeseen, we trust she’ll make a full recovery, thanks to God and our wonderful surgeons and staff. Thanks for coming, folks.”

* * *

  
In the waiting room, Andy smiled grimly after she’d watched coverage of the press briefing with John, Nigel, Serena, Roy, Mary and Wanda. As it ended, she announced, “And that’s why I love our ER doctor.”  
  
Wanda nodded, “I know her. She is very gifted, no? And she likes you and the jefa?”  
  
“She does.”  
  
Wanda patted her arm and Andy sat back, closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair. CNN Headline News had been looping the story over and over during the five hours they’d been waiting and Andy felt like disappearing into the floor. Person after person at the restaurant had been interviewed live, telling of Miranda’s standing between Alicia, Andy and the rest of her potential victims. She didn’t want to hear or see any more of it but forced herself to, thinking it would be the icing on her cowardice cake if she couldn’t even watch what she hadn’t had the guts to change.  
  
Mary watched Andy’s watching, left Roy’s side and took the seat next to her that had been vacated by Emily. She didn’t turn to Andy but asked, “What should you have done? Is that what’s on your mind?”  
  
Andy kept her eyes on the TV monitor. “Yes.”  
  
“Would you have asked that question of me? Could I have changed what happened to my Tony?”  
  
Andy whipped her attention toward Mary. “Of course not!”  
  
Mary looked into her eyes and Andy faltered, “Or…I don’t know. _No_.” Mary didn’t say a word. Andy found another answer, “Maybe. Maybe so?”  
  
“Right. Maybe so. Or maybe not. How do you think I live knowing that?”  
  
“It wasn’t your fault, Mary.”  
  
“Exactly. And this wasn’t your fault either.”  
  
“But I was under the damned table! Under a table when—“  
  
“When I was behind a door listening to Tony take bullets I would’ve happily taken myself? Tony’s death was a stupid accident, Andy. What happened today wasn’t an accident. That woman wanted to kill you and Miranda didn’t let her.”  
  
“So what does that make me?”  
  
“It makes you alive, which I believe was Miranda’s point.”

* * *

  
They all sat in silence for thirty minutes before Andy groaned as she felt her phone buzz again and steeled herself when she saw the number. She answered anyway. “Hi, Mom.”  
  
“How’s Miranda? And are you really okay?”  
  
“She’s in post-op and I’m as okay as I can be.”  
  
“Right. Your father and I can be on the 8.45 flight to LaGuardia.”  
  
Andy sat up straight. “Wait-a-second. What? What are you talking about?”  
  
“We’ve been watching CNN. Did a member of our family just get shot or not?”  
  
Andy felt tears start in her eyes, “She did. And I really, really appreciate your saying that and offering to come but do you think you guys could hold tight until I see Miranda and find out what’s going on?”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“I am. I mean, it’d be great to have you guys here but I think I really need to focus on Miranda and the kids right now. Wanda and Carlo and John will help with the day-to-day stuff. I think we’ll be okay.”  
  
There it was, Audrey thought, and the truth was bittersweet. Andy didn’t need her mommy—she was a mommy.  
  
There was a long pause and Andy could hear the disappointment in her mother’s voice when she replied softly, “I understand, sweetheart. You need space to take care of your family. Just let us know if you need anything. We can all be there within a few hours if you need us. Your father and Sam send their love. And Andy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Give Miranda our love and tell her thank you. We will never be grateful enough for what she did today.”  
  
“Will do. I love you, Mommy.”  
  
Audrey smiled into the phone. Her daughter hadn’t called her that but a few times since she’d been very small but even as a child, Andy had always been sensitive enough to soften a blow.  
  
“We love you too, baby.”

* * *

Andy and John looked at Miranda and then at each other. Although they had both lived with her and watched her sleep, seeing her unconscious robbed her of even the pretense of personality. Asleep and healthy, she looked like a Miranda at peace. Unconscious in a hospital bed, she was an injured and alarmingly pale 50-year-old woman.  
  
She was receiving IV fluids, a unit of blood and her left arm was strapped to her body, forearm resting on her stomach. Glancing at the dressing, Andy thought there was no way in hell that arm was moving as she kissed Miranda on the forehead, pulled up her blanket and left the room. She reappeared in a couple of minutes with an ice pitcher, some cups, straws, plastic spoons and another blanket. “Alright John, let’s make ourselves comfortable.”  
  
An hour later, Miranda blinked her eyes and moaned. Andy jumped to her side. “Sweetheart? I’m here and so is John.”  
  
Miranda nodded, tried to speak, then whispered, “Ice?”  
  
“Yep. Breakfast, lunch and dinner of hospital champions.” She spooned a few small pieces of ice into Miranda’s mouth and watched as the woman let them dissolve.  
  
“No more until you open your eyes.”  
  
Miranda opened and focused blue eyes glassy with pain, “Who are you?”  
  
John felt his heart jump but Andy didn’t take the bait. “Not funny, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda nodded again, “Tough room. Hello, Johnny.”  
  
“Hi you. We gotta stop meeting like this.”  
  
“I agree.”  
  
Andy took Miranda’s hand, “How do you feel, sweetie?”  
  
“Like I was shot in the arm by a lunatic, thank you.”  
  
Her tone was so cold that Andy had no idea what to make of it so she feigned a chuckle, “Yeah? Oddly enough, there’s a reason for that.”  
  
Miranda ignored this as she turned full attention to her arm, “This doesn’t look very cast-like, Andrea.”  
  
“They couldn’t put a hard cast on it so soon after surgery so they immobilized it.”  
  
“Oh really? That’s wonderful—and so comfortable.” She closed her eyes, her mouth a tight white line, “And speaking of comfort? Who do I have to kill or fuck around here to get some morphine?”  
  
“I’ll get the nurse.”  
  
“I knew you were good for something,” Miranda said without opening her eyes. “You do that.”  
  
As Andy scurried out of the room John said, “Jesus, Miranda. I know you’re in pain but don't take it out on Andy. She’s been frightened to death.”  
  
Miranda took a breath and John assumed she was counting to five. He’d seen it hundreds of times during their marriage before she’d started counting to three then stopped counting altogether. She rolled her head on the pillow toward him, opened her eyes. “Andrea may have been frightened to death but she’s alive. That’s all that matters.”  
  
He tentatively took her hand, “Okay. So why are you angry with her?”  
  
“Because she would have died if I hadn’t been there.”  
  
“But you were there.”  
  
“This time. I can’t always be with her.”  
  
“I know that but—“  
  
“I don’t think you understand, John.” Her hand was like a vise on his as she hissed, “Andrea can not die.” He watched her mouth tremble so slightly he might have thought he’d imagined it if he hadn’t seen what was in her eyes. Miranda, too, had been frightened to death. And still was.  
  
He painfully extricated his hand from hers and cupped her cheek. “She’s not going to die, Miranda. Thanks to you, she’s going to come back in here very much alive and you,” he hesitated but continued very firmly, “You are going to stop this. She needs you to love her and make her understand she’s worth what you did for her. Because in the waiting room? Or right now? She isn’t feeling that way and you’re not making it any better. You understand?”  
  
In the seconds it took for her to respond, he wondered whether he’d overstepped himself. He only realized he’d been holding his breath when he saw Miranda nod with the slightest motion of her chin.  
  
Minutes later, after the nurse had explained the working of the morphine pump and after administering medication to herself, a visibly relaxed Miranda held out her good arm to Andy, “You haven’t hugged me yet, Andrea. Honestly, what’s gotten into you?”  
  
Her voice was so sweet that Andy jumped to lower the bed railing and gently hugged her, burying her face in the woman’s neck. As Miranda patted her on the back, Andy began to cry.  
  
“Shhhh, Andrea. I’m fine—everything’s okay.”  
  
This made Andy sob harder and Miranda looked over Andy’s shoulder at John who gestured calling her and waved goodbye. She nodded and as he left the room, she tightened her hold on what she could not lose.

* * *

“It will be—how do you say it? The Castillo sleepover. Andy has invited us all to stay the night. John will take Carlo to get our things. You will not go to school tomorrow so you will play the games and Magdalena and I will do the dinner.”  
  
John smiled as Wanda spoke to the children, whose anxious faces had brightened hearing that Miranda was going to be okay. No school, a sleepover and games were what Andy had ordered and he could see it was the correct prescription. Even from the hospital and only by phone, Andy had everything under control. As he was driving home an hour later, he thought about what Cecelia had said before he’d left for the hospital.  
  
_He left her in the middle of a fraught conversation about their marriage. Fraught because Miranda and the children always came first. He knew it. She knew it. When he received the call and told her what had happened, she was concerned but laughed bitterly, “Well that’s just the punctuation at the end of nearly all our sentences, isn’t it John?”_ _  
  
He nodded because she was right. They both knew what being second to someone else meant and she almost felt sorry for him, as he did for her.  
  
“I have to be there—for the girls.”  
  
Cecelia looked up at him with liquid green eyes, “For your girl.”  
  
“I’ve never lied to you about that, Ce.”  
  
“No, you haven’t. Go. And I’ll be here when you get back.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too. I’m sorry she’s been hurt. Please give her and Andy my love.”  
  
“Thank you. I will.”  
  
“John?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Miranda? It’s over forever, you know. The fact of Andy makes that true.”  
  
He saw kindness in his wife’s eyes, brutal kindness. “I know.”  
  
“Everyone wants to make me the bad guy in our film, John, but I’m really not. I just want you to be happy. You’ll never have her again and you could do a lot worse than me.”  
  
“I could never do better than you, Cecelia. I’m stupid—but not that stupid.”_  
  
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he allowed himself to acknowledge that he was just that stupid when it came to Miranda. He wondered why it took seeing her new and better life to realize that he had one, too.

* * *

Driving home from the their vigil at the hospital, Roy cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been thinking, Mary.”  
  
Mary smiled at the street before them, “Have you been, Roy?”  
  
Her teasing tone made him glance at her and grin, “I have and I know you’re amazed I can do it.”  
  
“Not at all. What’s on your mind?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking that life’s too short.”  
  
When she found nothing more forthcoming she said, “It certainly can be.”  
  
She knew Roy well enough to know that he was girding up for something so she remained silent.  
  
He said as quickly as he could, “Life’s too short no matter what day it ends and I know it’s too soon to say it but I love you Mary and you don’t have to say a word in response but I’m sure you know everything’s always fine ‘til it’s not and then it’s too late so I think you should know how I feel just in case.”  
  
He sighed so loudly at the end of this sentence that she wanted to laugh but she put her hand on his shoulder instead. “I love you too, Roy.” He glanced at her again and she smiled at him. “Just in case.”  
  
He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, something he always did off-duty at stoplights, something he constantly reminded himself not to do with Miranda in the car. “Given the reason for my declaration, Mary, do you believe it’s incongruous to think I can now die happy?”  
  
“A foolish congruity is the hobgoblin of little minds—“  
  
“I thought it was foolish consistency.”  
  
“Quoting Emerson correctly is another hobgoblin”  
  
“Gotcha.”

* * *

Andy finished her coffee and sighed as she slid her shoes off and tucked her legs beneath her on the recline-a-bit. She was grateful that Miranda had been sleeping so peacefully despite the inhibitory bandaging. The one-armed hug Miranda had drawn her into had quickly slackened and even John’s goodbye hours before had not stirred her. Powerful narcotics could be good things. As were comfortable clothes, Andy thought as she drew a blanket around her, smiling as she closed her eyes. God bless Serena.  
  
“Why are you smiling?”  
  
Andy sat up and took Miranda’s hand, “Hi, sweetie. Why are you awake?”  
  
“It’s your fault,” Miranda murmured as she squeezed Andy’s hand before releasing it, “Surely you know your smiles have volume. You have very big teeth.”  
  
Andy could read neither the tone of voice nor the expression, so she kept hers neutral. “Nice one. The better to eat you with, smartass.”  
  
“Don’t be vulgar.”  
  
“What’s vulgar about Little Red Riding Hood?”  
  
“Point taken. It’s not particularly vulgar but it is overtly erotic. I could see that even as a child. Couldn’t you?”  
  
“You really are on drugs.”  
  
“As was the person who wrote that story, apparently. And you were smiling because…”  
  
Andy leaned forward and ran a hand through Miranda’s hair. “Just thinking about something Serena said.”  
  
“What’s that?”

* * *

_“I could not trust my English or Nigel to bring you something reasonable for a hospital. So I went to your house and asked Magdalena to show me to your sweatshirts and t-shirts and jeans and reasonable shoes.”_ _  
  
Andy looked in the bag and rifled through the items, which included toiletries. To her immense delight, she found thick woolen socks and her beloved Birkis.  She beamed as she said, “You’re complete perfection, Serena. Oh but wait. You knew that already, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes. I’ve been told.”  
  
“Still—I don’t understand. Why did you do it?”  
  
Serena waved vaguely at Nigel and Emily, “I saw the fashionistas grabbing things from the Closet but I knew you needed comfortable and casual. I told them that we could pick them up from your house but Emily was too frightened to ask.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Serena lowered her voice, “This is between us, no?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I believe Emily thought if she asked Magdalena to get these things or went looking for them herself that either might find,” and now Serena leaned in and whispered, “weapons of mass sexual destruction. So to speak.”  
  
Andy blushed and snorted at the same time. “Oh. My. God.”  
  
Serena nodded, “She did not say this. But that is my guess. She was very anxious.”  
  
Andy neighed with laughter, causing the rest of the people in the room to look their way. Andy turned them both away from the others. “I promise you, Serena, if there ever had been such weapons in our bedroom, you’d never find them.”  
  
Serena smirked and lifted one perfect eyebrow, “Which does not mean they never existed.”  
  
“But if you couldn’t find them?”  
  
“Of course. Just so.” _

* * *

Miranda’s face was blank as Andy finished her retelling of the conversation. “So, these are the kinds of things you talk about when I’m shot and in surgery?”  
  
“Yep. You got it. Quit getting shot and I’ll have other things to talk about—but for the record, this time’s a lot different than the last. Want to sit up?”  
  
With the answering nod, Andy hastened to adjust the bed and pillows. “I was actually thinking about that while you were sleeping. How much has changed since...”  
  
Miranda finished for her, “Since my last shooting?”  
  
“Your first—this one’s your last. Want some water?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer, Andy put a cup of water on the tray table within grabbing distance of Miranda’s good arm and took a seat. Watching her, Miranda realized it would have irritated her immensely if Andy had handed her the cup and from the amusement in the younger woman’s eyes, she’d known it.  
  
That expression disappeared as she ran her hands through her hair,  “You know what? You sure were a lot nicer waking up from anesthesia when you didn’t really know me.” This was phrased as if it were a joke but that wasn’t the intention and both of them knew it.  
  
Miranda’s eyes tightened as she answered, “Was I really? Well, chalk it up to etiquette, Andrea. You know how polite I am with strangers.”  
  
“Uh huh. Your kindness to strangers leaves a little something to be desired, not to mention really painful scars. And speaking of—“  
  
“What’s that? The scars or the pain?”  
  
“Either. Both. Actually, you know what? Forget it. You’re still angry at me and you’re not well so let’s just—”  
  
“Who said I was angry with you,” Miranda snapped as she sat up straighter.  
  
Andy answered quietly, “No one. I’m sorry I said that. You need to rest, sweetheart.”  
  
“No, darling. What I need is for you to explain to me why you’re accusing me of feelings I’m not experiencing.”  
  
Andy collapsed heavily into the recline-a-bit and mumbled under her breath, “Oh for God’s sake. Of all the times to accuse me of accusing you of…”  
  
“What’s that? I can’t hear you. I’m still probably a little deafened by that gunshot.”  
  
Andy threw both hands in the air and her voice was raised with them. “Alright, fine. Tell me what you are if you’re not angry.” She gestured wildly in the air between them. “What is this? Because news flash? You’re acting really angry and I wouldn’t fucking blame you if you are. I’m furious.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“WHY?”  
  
“Lower your voice, please.”  
  
“Make up your mind. Are you deaf or not?”  
  
Miranda sighed and lowered her voice, “This is ridiculous. Neither of us is five years old. If you stop waving your hands about and roaring, I’ll make every effort to restrain my…self. Why are you angry, Andrea, and with whom?”  
  
“Hello? Myself! It’s my fault you were shot.”  
  
“Why? You didn’t shoot me—the village idiot did. You should be angry with her, not yourself.”  
  
“Believe me, I’m angry with her, too. I could kill her.”  
  
Miranda snorted and actually smiled, “No you couldn’t but that’s neither here nor there.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“Exactly what I said. You couldn’t kill her.”  
  
Andy stared at Miranda for a few moments before asking very quietly, “Why did you step between me and Alicia?”  
  
Miranda took a sip of water. “Because she would have killed you. Because you’re a pacifist.” The hiss of the word would have told Andy exactly what Miranda thought of that if she hadn’t already known.  
  
“And that’s why you’re angry with me?”  
  
Miranda relaxed into her pillows, her voice hushed and sad, “I’m angry at Alicia, I’m angry I’m injured, I’m insulted by this whole ridiculous situation. It makes me feel apoplectic when I think that but for the grace of God, I’d be in a morgue looking at your body knowing I couldn’t even kill myself because it would be unfair to our children. And I know if I hadn’t intervened as I had, you’d be dead. So yes, knowing you’re a pacifist who won’t and can’t defend herself makes me desolate with rage, Andrea.”  
  
Andy leapt to her feet, “What are you talking about? I can defend myself!”  
  
“With what? With _words_? I love you with all that I am but you’re a _fool_.”  
  
“And why’s that? What’d _you_ do? You talked to her.”  
  
“Talked to her? Oh, Andrea. Don’t you know anything? You’re so stupid—and so young. I would have joyfully killed her. She knew that and she was afraid of me—too afraid to step close enough to kill me. You know why? Because I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted her neutralized or dead. I don’t need or want to understand people who want to kill me. You do. People like you die every day. I’d live past your dying but I wouldn’t survive. Surely you know that.”  
  
The tone of these last words took some of the sting off the speech. Andy made a decision to hear the fear and not the anger. She nodded and took Miranda’s hand, “It would be the same for me, sweetheart.”  
  
“No. It would not. You would take care of the children and you would mourn and you would meet someone and you would have a life. Don’t you dare argue with me. You’re half my age. That’s what would happen.”  
  
Andy dropped Miranda’s hand, “Fine. I’d regroup and remarry. Happy?”  
  
“Delirious. Giddy even.”  
  
“God! You’re so impossible.”  
  
Miranda took a sip of water before responding, “Impossible and alive. And you are too.”  
  
“Yeah. I have you to thank for that. And I know it.”  
  
Miranda picked at her blanket with her good hand, “No thanks necessary. It was completely self-serving, as I’ve said. But if Alicia had been left-handed, I’d have had to kill her.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“She wobbled with her right hand and shot me stage right.”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
“Exactly. Andrea?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Promise me one thing. Only one thing.”  
  
Looking into Miranda’s eyes and at her pale and sad somber face made Andy understand something very true was happening. “What’s that, sweetheart?”  
  
“I know for a fact you’d die or kill for our children. Just please take yourself that seriously. Please promise me you’ll live. Just please always do what you have to—to live.”  
  
“I promise.” Andy took Miranda’s hand and gently caressed it. “I’ll live. If I have any choice at all, I’ll live.”

* * *

**The Morning After**  
  
“Isn’t it a circus out there?”  
  
“And you expected what, English?”  
  
Emily barely dignified this with her voice but she did smirk as she punched the elevator’s button, “A sense of journalistic proportion?”  
  
Serena rolled her eyes, “I know you jest but you’re the most attractive jester I’ve ever known.”  
  
“Lucky you.”  
  
“I say that daily. To myself. Quietly.”  
  
“Shut up, Serena.”  
  
Serena smiled at the elevator door. “You’re always so full of yourself when you’re on the way to seeing herself.”  
  
“I am not.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Emily was gratified to see that Andy looked like she’d slept in a chair the whole night. She wasn’t so gratified to see Miranda looking exactly like she’d been shot and had been through surgery. Again.  
  
Miranda wasn’t gratified either. Without any preface, and without seeing that Andy grimaced dramatically and mouthed the word ‘grouchy’ at them, Miranda said, “Yes. I know. Wanda will be here soon to minimize the visual damage. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”  
  
As she rattled off instructions to Emily, Serena grabbed a chair from the nurses’ station, and perched on it after handing Andy an ice cold soda and all without saying a word.  
  
“I love you, Serena.”  
  
“No declarations of love to the Brazilian supermodel on my time.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“Or mine.”  
  
“Yes, Emily.” Andy replied, shrugging as she grinned, “We got it tough don’t we, S?”  
  
Serena nodded.  
  
As Miranda finished her instructions, she scowled at the woman in question, “And speaking of? Why exactly are you here, Serena?”  
  
“Visiting? Caring for you—that sort of thing? You’ve heard of it, I’m sure.”  
  
Miranda’s response was hesitant and distant, “I…have. But I don’t know how to feel about an employee saying that to me.”  
  
Andy sighed as Emily found her note pad particularly interesting.  
  
Serena only smiled, “Good. Fair enough. If you think of me as only an employee, then I don’t particularly care what you think, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda blinked. “I see. This is ‘straight-talk with Miranda’ day and no one told me?”  
  
“No. This is ‘don’t fuck with me after spending yesterday worried completely sick about you and Andy’ day. We’re past all this, surely. Grow up and get over yourself. We love you. You know this and are pretending not to, no?”  
  
Miranda glared but seemed almost to surprise herself as she spoke. “Oh? Is that right? Well, we…love you too. Damn you to hell.”  
  
Serena’s eyes widened and then she laughed—at Andy. “And all yours! You are marrying this?”  
  
Andy sighed again, “Yeah. I am. Can’t wait.”  
  
“Curb the enthusiasm, Andrea.”  
  
“Easy enough, Miranda.”  
  
At this, Miranda glowered so horridly that Andrea felt her heart jump a little in her chest. She took Miranda’s good hand in hers, “I’m really tired and I’m not in a good mood, sweetie, but I’m not kidding. You have to know it’s really hard to wait to marry you.“  
  
“And why are we waiting again?”  
  
Andy grinned and patted Miranda’s leg, “Hell, I don’t know. For you to say something? Give me a clue? A heads up? Anything?”  
  
Emily’s sharp sigh in response was obnoxiously loud, which irritated Andy more than she knew it should. “Okay. Did you have something you wanted to add, Em?”  
  
“Nope. Nothing, Andy. What could I possibly say to the girl under the table?”  
  
Uh oh, Serena and Miranda thought as they immediately caught each others’ eyes.  
  
“What’d you say?”  
  
Emily’s answer was hissed and quiet, “Perfect answer, Andrea! I kick the bloody hell out of you and you ask me what I just did. Perfect! You’re a coward, Sachs! You fucking let Miranda get shot!”  
  
Miranda sat up so quickly that Serena barked even as she jumped to keep the older woman in the bed, “English! Stop! This is not the time for this discussion!”  
  
“The hell it’s not!”  
  
Andy was livid, “You! You and your fucking British snobbery. What would YOU have done, Emily?”  
  
Emily obviously enjoyed chewing her answer out, “I would have put my life on the line to protect her, you cow. I did—if you don’t remember? I did! You have a fiancée because I’d kill and die for her. You didn’t do either and I’m really…really…” at this point Emily began to cry, “angry with you.” She pointed at Miranda, “You didn’t take care of her! Her! Do you have any idea who she is? What were you thinking?”  
  
Andy stared at the tears running down Emily’s face, “I wasn’t thinking, Em. I was scared.” Her face was solemn as she asked, “She had a gun. Weren’t you scared?”  
  
Emily roughly dashed the tears from her cheeks, “No. I wasn’t. I was angry. She hurt Miranda. I wanted to kill her.”  
  
Andy smiled grimly. “Which means you’re not a pacifist.”  
  
Emily ran her hands through her hair in shocked aggravation, “Me? A pacifist? You’re joking. Not while I have breath in my body.”  
  
Andy chuckled weakly as she jerked her thumb at Emily and turned her attention to Miranda, “You should have proposed to this one instead.”  
  
Miranda’s voice was gentle, “Serena might object. As would I. We barroom brawler types tend to marry pacifists. Keeps everything even.”  
  
“You’re not a barroom brawler, Miranda.”  
  
“I am. Of sorts, Andrea.”  
  
The silence that fell upon the room was sad and strange and ominous to all of them but Andy flabbergasted everyone by pulling Emily into a hug and saying, “Thank you so much for taking care of Miranda. I’m so sorry I didn’t.”  
  
Emily didn’t do anything for a few seconds, then gave the woman vague pats on the back when she realized the hug was still happening and nothing could be done about it. She tried to make her voice sound firm. “Yes. Right. Well. Do better next time, won’t you?”  
  
Andy smiled into her neck and then kissed it. “Good answer Em. And there won’t be a next time.”  
  
Emily pulled away sharply from the kiss, even as she blushed, “Shut up, Andy.”  
  
Serena knew better than to laugh at her girl. “She told me to shut up in the elevator It’s a trend. So now? We are still friends?’  
  
Andy nodded. “Yep. If you’re all good, I am.”  
  
Miranda winked at Serena, but stared at Emily with ice in her blue eyes. “I think we are. And I assume we all know who always has my back?”  
  
Emily nodded proudly. “We do. Not Andy.”  
  
“Emily?” The tone was pure _Runway_.  
  
Emily gulped. “Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“What would you do if someone were intent on shooting Andrea?”  
  
Emily didn’t hesitate, “I would kill or die to keep her safe.”  
  
Miranda nodded. “We understand each other. That’s all.”

The dismissal was a real one but forestalled as a buoyant Nigel sailed in with a smile and a garment bag.  
  
He didn’t properly greet them, taking the temperature of the room at a glance. “So. I’m right on time. The bodies haven’t hit the floor.” His eyes snapped to Miranda’s, “No disrespect intended, given your close call but I call it as I see it.”  
  
Miranda gave a cursory wave with her good hand, peering at the bag, “What’s this?”  
  
“It’s something called…needs must, Miranda.”  
  
The three standing women in the room gave way and he unzipped the garment bag, explaining as he did so, “I was thinking to myself last night. My, my, my. What to give a woman who has everything including an arm in a cast for months?”  
  
He pulled out a gorgeous Caroline Herrera blouse and held it out for Miranda.  
“This.”  
  
She inspected it and said, “I love this blouse but it’s—“  
  
“One size larger than you wear. Yes it is.”  
  
Nigel threw the garment bag on Andy’s chair and draped the blouse over the bed. “Watch.” He astonished the four women by pulling at the left seam of the blouse from its side hem and pulling up. It parted upward, off of a minute strip of Velcro, opening the whole of the blouse from hem to shoulder, including along the line of the left sleeve.  
  
“Voila, ma chere! Arm through the right sleeve and you press yourself together, if the seamstress is correct, all the way down the left and out the sleeve and no one will know the difference.”  
  
Miranda looked over the finish of the blouse with wonder, “How did you—who—“  
  
“Who? Me, of course. It took all of last night. You think I’m just pretty but I can sew and even think, if absolutely forced to.”  
  
He looked her over, “Where are my manners?” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I knew everyone else would be droning on and on about ‘how are you feeling’ and ‘wasn’t that scary’ etcetera but if I were you—or me for that matter? All I’d really care about would be what to wear. Am I right?”  
  
Miranda looked up into his kind, sad eyes that knew everything but and gave him a curt smile. “Exactly. People need proportion. Tragedy has many forms. Bad fashion is one of them. Thank you Nigel.”  
  
“No worries. I think we’ll only have to deal with maybe 120 pieces over 10 weeks. I’m all over it.”  
  
Everyone blinked. “120 pieces?” Andy’s voice was incredulous but the answer was given to Miranda.  
  
“Give or take. You’ll need a number of dashing smocks until you get your real cast, then dresses, blouses. You’ll want options. You’ll have them is what I’m saying.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Leave it to me. No worries.”  
  
Miranda pursed her lips, “Nigel. You can’t press gang Runway staff into sewing for me. They already have jobs and to ask them otherwise for a personal reason would be unethical.”  
  
Everyone in the room stared and Andy smiled, so Miranda glared icily at her. “I knew quite a bit about ethics before you were born Andrea, so don’t think you made the introduction.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“Stop that. I’m in no mood for solicitousness.” She turned her full attention to Nigel, “I’d just thrown these people out of my room when you came in. I’m sorry to cut this visit short but I’m actually quite tired.” She smiled genuinely and held out her hand, which he took. “Thank you for taking care of me.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I’ll take this with me and ethically procure elves to help me get started.”  
  
“Very well. I trust you.”  
  
“As you should.” He kissed her cheek again and stood a few feet from the bed, obviously waiting to walk out with the others.  
  
Serena leaned over Miranda, brushed the lock of white hair from the woman’s forehead and kissed her gently in its place. “Rest well. We’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
Miranda nodded and everyone looked at Emily, who was rooted in place and said, “If there’s nothing else…”  
  
Miranda stared hard and gave the slight jerk of her head that Andy would always remember fondly as the ‘what are you waiting for—get in the elevator, you dumb-ass’ look.  
  
Emily took her cue but only placed her hand very softly on Miranda’s pinioned arm. She left it there for a few moments, looking into Miranda’s eyes, then retreated. “That’s it. You lot get nothing more from me. Not even you, Priestly.”  
  
Miranda nodded at her. “Fair enough. Get going. The future wife stays.”  
  
Andy hugged them all as they left and turned, closing the door with a grin. “Ahh…alone at last.”  
  
“Said the nun to God after a long day.”  
  
“Dude, you’re really grouchy.”  
  
“Dude is worse than buddy but you know what I hate even worse if that’s possible and it shouldn’t be? My left arm right now.”  
  
“Morphine pump, sweetie. You’ve been holding out on yourself.”  
  
Miranda grabbed the pump, jabbing it multiple times and forcefully.  
  
“Again? You get the same dose no matter how you treat it.”  
  
“Thank you for that bit of phatic communication. Not strictly phatic, of course, but it amounts to the same thing. It’s the figurative, not the literal, Andrea. You’re a writer—surely you know how this works.”  
  
“Andrea? No. Andy. We’re alone.”  
  
“Something besides dude. Yes? We’re alone.”  
  
Andy leaned over the bed and stroked Miranda’s cheek. “Do you know you always parse words when you’re hurting, and not only physically? You’re such an editor right now.”  
  
“I edit. It’s what I am.”  
  
“I so very know that. What can I do for you, Miranda? Sweetheart? Lover? Love of my life? Fiancée? Heroine?”  
  
Miranda snorted but suddenly there… and then very, very slowly, she dreamily smiled.  
  
“Aha!” Andy laughed, “Morphine? Is good, no?”  
  
“Heaven.”  
  
“Good. I’m so glad. I hate to see you hurting.”  
  
“Hero.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hero. I hate feminizations of nouns. Actor, not actress. Hero, not heroine.”  
  
“Oh God. Here we go.” Andy pulled the visitor’s chair Serena had brought to the bedside and sat down. She took Miranda’s right hand and kissed it, “I love you so much.”  
  
“Do you? Really?”  
  
“Can you doubt it?”  
  
Miranda looked at her and her gaze was so dozy and dopey that Andy knew whatever might come out of her mouth would be the truth. Her heart beat double-time.  
  
Whatever she’d expected, she was surprised. Miranda spoke clearly and evenly, “I’m not a happy match for you. We’ve been arguing more often, if you haven’t noticed. And you have. Of course you have. I’m prideful and awful. But I am not false-hearted—never with you. I don’t want you to be unhappy with me.”  
  
Okay. There it was. Something Andy had been thinking about, dealing with, going over in her mind for months. Yes, they argued more. A lot more. And yes, it wasn’t all peace, bliss, romance anymore. So what was it?  
  
She’d sort of figured it out and she knew she might have/maybe should have involved Miranda in the process but what would be the point of that? It had been something so sad and fragile for her to contemplate that another human’s breath on it would have erased what she’d struggled to collect, to observe. She’d decided unilateral understanding had its merits. If she couldn’t understand it alone, what could Miranda’s vibrantly different pattern add, except confusion?  
  
She loved Miranda. And Miranda had been so kind and so willing to be whatever Andy had needed her to be until their lives together had become real. Over time, however, Miranda had become real, as well. And the real Miranda was really, pretty much, _Runway_ Miranda. Her husbands hadn’t known that. It was a bait and switch for them but it wasn’t for her. Perhaps that was the difference. She loved _Runway_ Miranda but the fact the woman went overboard for her—Andy? Bending, breaking and distorting herself into allowing herself to love and be loved as other people did was really something. Something Andy noticed and appreciated.  
  
The honeymoon was over. It was no longer easy for Miranda. Andy could see that, watching Miranda making a tremendously valiant daily, sometimes hourly, effort for her and for the children.  
  
She sometimes won, more often failed. Miranda acted out—a lot. _A lot_ a lot.  
  
Andy was used to that, had decided she could marry that. Loving Miranda required discretion. That was an adult lesson she could admit she’d learned from the woman in question. She’d thought, before Miranda, that true love required a memory/experience dump between partners. No. Not really.  
  
Was it kind? Was it helpful? Was it painful? Yes. Was it too painful or a puzzle that could not be solved? No.  
  
They would never truly discuss what made Miranda Miranda because that could never be on the table. Or a reasonable dinner. On that figurative table. Whatever.  
  
She’d made her decision. Unilaterally. She’d felt herself changing around that decision. Fighting back, mouthing off and just generally, she’d had to admit it to herself, really growing up. She—the least confrontational human on the planet. Owning her own crap and putting up with or confronting Miranda’s, whether it cost them an argument or not.  
  
Andy smiled and kissed her before she sat down. “We argue because we’re different, sweetheart. It doesn’t bother me.”  
  
“You hate arguing, Andy”  
  
“You’re right. I despise it.” Andy pressed Miranda’s hand tighter and kissed it. “So what? You don’t like my clothes.”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“So am I. We’ll never get along until the end of our lives. Argue with me. I don’t care. We’ll do that all the time but at the very end of the argument or fight or fist-fight, if it comes to that—and it’d better not or I will kick your ass? I’ll love you and know you love me. And I’ll be married to you and you’ll never be able to change that. Remember? No divorce. For better or worse. You’re SO the worst person I could ever imagine.”  
  
She leaped up and kissed Miranda on the mouth. “See? Isn’t that the best thing ever? You’ll always be my worst-case scenario. I’ll hold onto you until the day I die.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, “Is that supposed to be romantic?”  
  
“Well, yeah. As romantic as I get at this point.”  
  
“Pacifist.”  
  
“Domme.”  
  
Miranda snickered and pressed Andy’s hand tightly in hers, “Nice to meet you.”  
  
Andy smiled—a big smile—“We’re so getting married just as soon as that cast’s off.”  
  
“Why wait so long?”  
  
“Hello? You’ll have marital duties?”  
  
“Why would that bother you? Oh right. You’d have to work. You couldn’t just lie there in bed as per usual.”  
  
Andy’s eyes popped wide, “You just said that? Literally? And lightning didn’t strike you?”  
  
“What can I say? I’m right.”  
  
Andy punched her very gently on her right arm.  
  
Miranda grinned up at her, a very dopey grin, “And blessed. So very blessed. We’re getting married.”  
  
“We are, asshole.”  
  
“I suppose I’m supposed to think that’s better than dude?”  
  
Andy ignored this. “Our daughters are coming in about three hours. Wanda’s coming to get you going before they get here. Naptime. Bedtime for Bonzo.”  
  
“I’m not a monkey.”  
  
“Actually? You sorta are,” Andy said as she wrapped a blanket over Miranda’s shoulders. “Plus? You’re the love and light of my life, Miranda. Sleep well and I’ll be right here beside you. Always.”  
  
Andy watched Miranda struggling through her drugged haze for a response. All she could come up with was “Yes.” Her eyes closed.  
  
Andy rolled her eyes and kissed her exactly where Serena had, “Yes. Indeed. Yes. You dumb-ass.”

* * *

Wanda was Wanda, rushing in and immediately filling a basin of water.  
  
“This is very, as you say, unacceptable, Miranda. You get shot and—pftt—here we are.” She slipped gloves onto her hands. “This is stupid.”  
  
“Wanda?”  
  
“Si?”  
  
“I’m okay. Really.”  
  
Andy realized there was some wisdom in letting Wanda take her place by Miranda’s bedside, “What if that stupid had killed you? We could never live with that! Our poor children! _Our children_ , Miranda.”  
  
Miranda nodded her assent but cupped Wanda’s cheek, “Should I have left her? Could you ever leave Andy?”  
  
Wanda pushed a cloth into soapy water. “Not in my life.”  
  
“Exactly. Andrea? Go get some coffee. Get lost.”  
  
“Yep”

* * *

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

“There! You are perfect!”  
  
Miranda looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She had to admit that she did look far better after Wanda’s loving assistance, but “Perfect?”  
  
Wanda frowned, “What else? I can’t do anything about the way they have with this arm but I thought this was…maybe…a good thing? Yes?”  
  
Wanda had asked her cousin who owned a hair salon to give her a stylist’s smock to put around the woman’s hospital gown. And she’d brought a pair of Miranda’s sweatpants from her home.  
  
“This is the best for now, I think. It covers your gown for the children and you are warm with the sweatpants but I know that Nigel will make something for you that is so much prettier and—“  
  
“You know that?”  
  
“Oh _si._ He called me last night. He keeps me, how do you say it? In the loop.”  
  
“Last night? I’m not in the loop but you are?”  
  
“Why not? I’m important, no?”  
  
With those words, and the sound of that voice, Miranda relented. “Of course you are. And the smock is nice with my eyes, isn’t it?”  
  
Wanda smiled, “Oh yes, _jefa,_ so blue and blue.”  
  
“Thank you. But I’m not your boss.”  
  
“No. I think so. I think you are everyone’s boss.”  
  
“Yes.” Miranda sighed again, “I guess I am. My God. Poor Andrea.”  
  
Wanda was a bit thrown by this, having chalked up Miranda’s somber mood to the shooting and the injury—certainly nothing about her friends’ relationship. She took a calming breath, then replied “No. Lucky Andy, I say.”  
  
Miranda looked into the other woman’s eyes with true interest or maybe hope, neither of which Wanda missed. “You think so? You think she’s lucky?”  
  
Wanda patted Miranda’s arm gently, “She marries the person she loves? What is not lucky?”  
  
“That it’s me, Wanda. Isn’t that obvious? It’s me.”  
  
Ah. _Si_. There it was. What to say?  
  
Miranda’s eyes really were stunningly blue, Wanda thought, even more when so sad and oddly anxious. She took a deep breath and the corners of her mouth lifted into almost a smile as she made light, rearranging touches to the smock, “Yes. It is you. And you will not change, Miranda. Never think so. But you don’t have to. Andy has made her choice.”  
  
“I know.” Miranda sighed yet again and then struggled with something she clearly couldn’t say because she hesitated two, then three times before settling for a softly whispered, “I suck.”  
  
Wanda made a calculated choice to take all the heat off the moment by cackling before replying, “Ah? You suck and you see it? Yes! You do! I will tell Andy and the children you know it!”  
  
Miranda, hearing this for what it was, gratefully played along, “Are you sure you’re not Martha?”  
  
“No no. That Martha? She scares me.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“You suck and you are scared! This is a day I will remember!”  
  
“Wanda? You repeat any of this and Carlo will be a widower, which would be terribly unfortunate, given the fact I’m so fond of him. And poor Juan Carlo with no _mami.”_  
  
“See! There you are! Put on more mascara, _jefa._ It will make you feel better. Even better than threats.”  
  
“I doubt that.”  
  
“Mascara, Miranda.”  
  
“You know what? That word sounds sexy with your accent. Say it again?”  
  
“What? No!” Wanda gaped at Miranda and crossed herself. “Don’t say that word to me! Go away!”  
  
“Clarify please. Mascara or sexy or vamoose?”  
  
“Vamoose is bastard Spanish.”  
  
“You said bastard. Don’t think I won’t tell.”  
  
Wanda spluttered a second before saying with a definitive jerk of her chin, “You are a child and you suck.”  
  
“Exactly. Just so we’re clear.” Miranda turned toward the mirror again and reapplied her mascara. With a glimpse, Wanda noted those arresting blue eyes were now reasonably untroubled.  
  
 _Bueno_ , she thought, smiling genuinely as she left the bathroom to gather her supplies.

* * *

As Andy and Carlo walked the children up to Miranda’s room, it faintly nauseated Andy to know this, like the tabloid press, was now old news for them. Oh well. She smiled as she knocked on the door, “This is it folks—the grand reveal…”  
  
She opened it and was gratified to see a wildly visually improved Miranda sitting in the recline-a-bit with a grinning Martha beside her.  
  
She hastened to say, “Okay guys—easy. Really easy with the hugs. Left side bad. Right side good.”  
  
Cassidy hugged Miranda lightly around her neck, then snuggled into that neck, whispering, “I love you so much, Mommy. I was so scared for you.”   
  
Miranda patted her with her one good arm, “I love you too, angel. And no need to be scared. You and your sister know I’m much worse than any bad guy. Ask Emily.”  
  
Cassidy giggled agreement before Caroline said, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t hog her, Cass.”  
  
Cassidy kissed her mother’s cheek before pulling away and shoulder-bumping Caroline, “I’m first-born, baby-girl. I get dibs.”  
  
“Again with the yeah, yeah. Whatevs,” Caroline said as she took her sister’s place next to her mother.  
  
She didn’t hug her. She put one hand on her mother’s left cheek and stared into her eyes. “I love you, Mom. Are you really okay?”  
  
Andy flinched at the tone. It wasn’t cold but it wasn’t particularly warm either. Miranda accepted this without blinking and her tone matched her daughter’s. “I love you, too. And I really am.”  
  
Caroline nodded. “I’m glad.”  
  
“I am as well.”  
  
That was enough, evidently, for Juan Carlo to feel it was his turn, “Oh Ms. Miranda. _Madre di Dios_!” He immediately began to sob and, without any semblance of embarrassment shoved Caroline out of the way and very, very carefully placed himself in the older woman’s lap. “What would we do, Ms. Miranda? What would we do without you?”  
  
He sobbed hot tears into her neck as she wrapped her one good arm around him and whispered quiet reassuring words to him. That was enough to make everyone in the room get a little weepy, which was, for two of them, too much because they’d firmly decided not to cry.  
  
The two in question stood side by side. Caroline rolled her eyes and whispered very quietly, “What a fucking girl.” Not so quietly that Andy couldn’t hear it and nonchalantly punch the girl not so lightly in the shoulder.  
  
Caroline glared at Andy, who leaned down and whispered into Caroline’s ear, “Language Caroline and don’t make me hurt you.”  
  
She whispered back, “Child abuse already? And you’re not even step-mommy dearest yet.”  
  
Andy wrapped an arm around Caroline’s neck and smiled sweetly at Miranda, leaning down so that she could whisper viciously into the girl’s ear. “Operative word? Yet. I will so wire-hanger you, doll-face.”  
  
Caroline gave her mother and Juan Carlo a saccharine-soft smile as she hissed into Andy’s ear. “Bullshit. You love me.”  
  
“Language Caroline. And I do love you. With. All. Of. My. Heart. Deal, shitbird.” With that, she kissed Caroline’s cheek soundly.  
  
Hearing that? Feeling that kiss? Made Caroline seethe. She wanted to shriek “LANGUAGE, ANDY!” She clenched her fists, wanting to destroy Andy for doing that. She assumed without seeing that the young woman was probably giving her one of those know-it-all smirks she sometimes wore that always felt like a punch in the face.  
  
And if she turned and saw that stupid face? Caroline didn’t even know if she’d have the strength not to punch Andy right the fuck back. She swallowed hard and looked up into those big brown eyes and saw…  
  
Nothing. Andy looked at her for one second before turning her attention to Miranda, exactly as if nothing had happened. Nothing was happening.  
  
Caroline exhaled sharply. Andy wasn’t going to make anything happen.  
  
Which was exactly what Caroline wanted. She wanted nothing to happen and nobody to look at her when she talked to her mom and nobody to watch her feelings with her mom because really? How lame would that be?  
  
Andy wasn’t going to rat her out. Rat. She grinned and took what she knew was Andy’s rat-savaged hand. Andy squeezed it briefly but didn’t look at her. Perfect.

* * *

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

Carlo kissed his wife on the cheek and then, leaning over, also kissed Miranda’s cheek before running his fingers through Juan Carlo’s hair, “Mijo, it’s time to smile now.”  
  
Juan Carlo looked up at his father, who lightly picked him up out of Miranda’s lap, set him on the ground and dropped to his knees to wipe the boy’s tears with a large, callused hand.  
  
As if daring the room or anyone in it to disagree, Carlo cast his eyes over everything and everyone before saying, “You are brave to show Miranda how much we love her, I think. You make me a proud father.”  
  
Juan Carlo nodded and hugged his father tightly, which again immediately made everyone in the room tear up. Except for one person, who said “J.C.”  
  
He turned toward the voice, “Yes?”  
  
“Cut to the chase. We’re all good. Mom’s okay and you completely rock. Can we get on with the visit?”  
  
He nodded as he replied solemnly, “Yes, Caroline.”  
  
At this, Miranda smirked. At this, Andy and Cassidy sighed.

* * *

It was a good visit.  They talked, laughed and generally, given the nature of person being visited, tried to completely ignore the fact they were in a hospital room.  
  
Until there was a knock on the door. Miranda didn’t really answer, only saying, “Who actually knocks in a hospital? Truly? They barge in constantly and—“  
  
“Come in!” Andy finished.  
  
Susan Allen entered and immediately said, “Whoa! Family conference.”  
  
She was dressed in a black leather jacket, Dallas Cowboys’ jersey, jeans and Doc Marten boots, all of which were conspicuously clean but had been worn nearly to death. The woman surveyed the room and did a disapproving head count. “Okay. Six visitors and now seven. Just dropping in to see how many folks fit in a hospital room with a person who had major surgery the day before.”  
  
Not even having to glance at Miranda to know she’d be bowing up to strike at this, Andy preempted her by rushing and hugging the tall doctor. She made the few remaining introductions before lowering her head a bit as she explained, “Wanda, Carlo and I were just about to leave and let the children visit a little longer while they ran me home to take a shower.”   
  
“That right? How long you been outta bed, Miranda?”  
  
Miranda said in a decidedly frosty tone, “Two hours and a half? Three?”  
  
“Yeah. Figures,” she said as she crossed to the chair, “I can see your pressure’s low just looking atcha. Back in the bed and while we’re at it? Box that attitude. I’m right and you’re wrong but when the Louboutin’s on the other foot, sister? Feel free to tell me and I’ll roll. Let’s go.”  
  
Everyone gaped at the doctor except Wanda, whose face fell. Under the doctor’s pronouncement, she felt she’d been professionally negligent. Miranda saw this, digested it instantly, and before either woman could speak, answered quietly, “You’re right. Wanda told me many times to get back into the bed before the children came. Don’t blame her.”  
  
Dr. Allen saw and digested this as well. She shook her head, “Are you kidding me? Damn, woman. If there’s a room with you in it, I’d never blame anybody but you for anything.” She turned and pointed a finger at the children. “Sorry for cussin’. I promise I’ll do it again but I know you’ve heard and probably said worse. And don’t worry about your mama. This is normal post-operative fatigue and she’s fine.”  
  
They nodded as Dr. Allen waved Wanda off and helped Miranda back into the bed. And, as she tucked her in quite tenderly in a way Wanda frankly had never seen a doctor do in all her years at the hospital, Cassidy asked. “Pressure? You meant her blood pressure, Dr. Allen?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“How can you tell? Don’t you need a sphygmomanometer to check it?”  
  
“Ooh. Big word, young girl,” Dr. Allen grinned, “Cassidy, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” She smiled at the doctor. “I guess you do pay attention, huh?”  
  
“I sure do. Part of the job. Now that your mama’s back in the bed and she’s slightly reclining?”  
  
“Yeah?”     
  
“By all means, yes.” Miranda interrupted, waving her good hand. “I’ve just realized my destiny. I’m not an editor. I’m a science project.”  
  
Dr. Allen waved a hand right back. “Miranda. Attitude? Box.” She pointed at Miranda’s face. “Look at her lips now, Cassidy. Her cheeks? Notice how she’s got more color already?”  
  
Juan Carlo stepped forward, “She does! That’s very good, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, it’s great and it’s normal. She had a bit of orthostatic hypotension. Fatigue and morphine. You guys like science, huh?”  
  
The doctor included all the children with a kind smile but Caroline rolled her eyes before answering, “Thanks, doc. Big fat no for me and a yes for them. I’m only a lousy photographer but they’re geeks. Both of them want to be doctors when they get taller.”  
  
“Really? Cool! When you get a little older, I’d be happy to show you around the hospital, okay?"  
  
Cassidy and Juan Carlo nodded enthusiastically.  
  
“Great. Now let me talk to your mama.”  
  
She turned to the woman in question. “Now, despite all this not-so-heavy lifting, Miranda, I’m not your doctor, thank the Lord. I thought we’d better start scheduling some lunches or dinners or something because getting shot and bitten and shot just so you guys can see me is going a little too far, don’t you think?”  
  
Miranda, who truly did occasionally adore spirited opposition, pursed her lips, “My guilty secret’s out, Dr. Allen?”  
  
Dr. Allen took this for what it was, no hurt feelings, and she smiled, “Only to me. Don’t worry. No Page Six. I like you too much.” Her expression changed slightly, something only Miranda could see. It was kinder, much softer. “I’ve read your chart and know all the medical stuff and all the pain stuff but how’s that wing really treating you from your side of the fence? Let’s hear it. ”  
  
No one in the room, even Andy, had asked this question.  
  
“Let me see.” Miranda thought about it for a few moments. None of the doctors she’d seen yet had asked her this either. They’d inspected, prodded and asked about pain but that wasn’t asking about how she really felt. Pain was one thing but this was another.  
  
“My arm hurts but I hate this confinement of it more. I think that hurts more than the injury, to be honest. I can’t sleep without the morphine and—”  
  
Dr. Allen interrupted her by placing her hand on Miranda’s arm. “You’re right. Our limbs don’t like being held in place—because the position is…really listen to me, alright?”  
  
Miranda nodded.  
  
“You’re going to have a lot of pain because this was a damned bad injury and really hard surgery. The insult to your body this time was a hell of a lot worse than before. That said, this position is what’s best for your arm right now but part of your brain—the part that governs your instincts?”  
  
Miranda nodded again.  
  
“It’s telling you to move it. It’s telling you what’s true instinctually, that a limb left dormant will die. Which is not the truth here, okay?”  
  
She patted Miranda’s good hand, “Neuropsychologically and physically, you’re having a perfectly normal reaction to an abnormal situation. You can’t really help but have a reaction to the imprisonment of a limb. Not a lot of science about it but I happen to know it’s true. Bottom line? It’s not much fun but it might help if you know it’s normal and don’t worry about it too much, okay?”  
  
“Yes. Thank you for explaining that. The other doctors might have saved you the trouble.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am, they could. But other doctors aren’t me. I’m one of a kind.” She gestured at her clothing and said, “As you may have noticed. Sorry I’m not dressed for you.”  
  
“So I see.” Miranda sniffed, “Exactly what are you dressed for? Cleaning your garage?”  
  
“Close but no cigar. My husband’s taking me to dinner in a couple of hours if his surgery goes well.”  
  
Miranda blinked, “His surgery?”  
  
“Oh sorry. Not on him. He’s doing it. He’s a cardiac surgeon. Emergency bypass graft. He’s in the theater and I hear it’s looking good so I thought I’d go watch for a bit. Nothing like watching your man use his hands.”  
  
Andy coughed; Dr. Allen winked at her and laughed. “Where a girl’s mind goes. He’s a surgeon, Andy. His hands are his livelihood. He doesn’t do anything around the house. Ever.”  
  
Wanda elbowed her husband in the ribs, “What’s your excuse?”  
  
Carlo extended his work-worn hands, “My hands? See them? They are so delicate.”  
  
Dr. Allen eyed them and said, “Wow, Wanda. He may be right.”  
  
“No, Dr. Allen. Do not say so. He does not need help to think it is right to watch the TV when I cook.”  
  
“I help.”  
  
“No, Carlo. To say ‘it needs more salt’ is not help.”  
  
Dr. Allen laughed and said, “It may taste better with but nothing needs more salt. Ask my husband. And on that note, I'm making an executive medical decision. Let’s get out of here. All of you including me. Miranda needs rest.”  
  
Because it was a forced exodus, everyone swarmed to kiss Miranda goodbye, a process, once started, that seemed to take forever. Caroline hung back a little and the doctor gravitated toward her but didn’t speak.  
  
Caroline stared at her mother, but felt the doctor by her and said very quietly something that was equal parts question and statement. “My mother is brave, isn’t she?”  
  
The doctor’s voice was just as quiet, “She is. And I run into seriously brave people in my job. Police, firefighters. But they’re pros. She’s only a civ but she really is. I’m honored to know her—and only for that. I couldn’t care less about the fashion stuff.”  
  
“No shit. It shows.”  
  
“Perfect. Mama’s daughter. No need for the DNA test.”  
  
Caroline snorted but whispered, “You know what? Andy told me Mom was brave once but I didn’t believe it.”  
  
Dr. Allen looked down at the child, assessed her attitude and decided she didn’t like it. “Why not? Andy’s brave too.”  
  
Caroline’s tone was as dismissive as her reply. “Because she fought a rat?”  
  
“Sure, if that’s how you wanna look at it. But your mama fought a rat too, Caroline. A rat with a gun. Look at me.”  
  
Caroline looked up into Dr. Allen’s eyes and saw something she hadn’t seen yet in this jovial tough-talking stranger. She realized it looked something like anger.  
  
The woman leaned down and whispered, “I live emergency medicine. Unless you go into my field or off to war, you will never, ever see a fraction of the brutality or horror or sadness or bravery or goodness or sheer fucking grace of God that I do every day. That’s great for you but you know what?”  
  
Caroline’s eyes began to sting but she jerked her chin so the doctor continued, “Sometimes? Sometimes God is really damned kind and a 30-ton truck doesn’t hit you or you don’t fall off the 10th story of a building. Sometimes, He sends exactly the right size enemy—something or someone you can beat if you’re willing and brave. He gives you a choice and a chance. When God’s feeling real generous? He sends someone like Andy a rat but sends someone like your mama that piece of shit who shot her.”  
  
She lowered her voice another notch, “They both stood up and bled for the people they loved, you hear me girl? I have seen way too many people die who met something too big for them. Don’t you dare disrespect them. Not if you love them. You should thank God, Caroline. If they had to bleed and suffer, and evidently they did, you should thank God they met something they survived.”  
  
Dr. Allen immediately felt like a bully as she looked down into watery blue eyes and watched the girl’s lower lip quiver as she whispered, “You’re wrong.”  
  
Before the woman could reply, Caroline continued, “I mean, I know you’re right. But you’re wrong. I do thank God. All the time.” She took a breath and said, “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Caroline waved at the room, at her mother, at her family as they smiled and lingered, not really wanting to leave. “Isn’t dodging a bullet supposed to make you feel lucky?”  
  
She watched the others, feeling one thousand miles away from them emotionally. “It’s like they don’t even know. It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it? More bullets.”  
  
“Sure. Of one sort or other. Without fail. Even so, Caroline. Knowing that? I never lose faith.”  
  
The girl nodded, “I don’t ever say shit like this, okay? I mean, not even to Cass.” She wiped her eyes, “I don’t either. Lose faith, I mean. So thanks. And that’s confidential?”  
  
“To the grave and that’s as grave as I get.” The doctor gave the girl a knuckle-bump rather than a handshake and then said in a voice no one could ignore, “Alright people. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”  
  
Caroline crossed the room to be the last one to say goodbye. She was going to kiss her mother’s cheek but was, instead, pulled into a one-armed hug.  
  
Miranda whispered in her ear, “You’re an artist, Caroline. You will never, ever be only a lousy photographer to me.”  
  
The girl abruptly stood up, shocked by this immediate second helping of random, quiet blistering kindness. She stared into eyes so much like her own and her sister’s, yet still so unfathomable to her and said, “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”  
  
Miranda’s only reaction was a slight tilt of her head, “Then that makes two of us, does it not?”  
  
Caroline thought about that for a moment then laughed softly before she took her mother’s good hand in hers and kissed it before replying, “Yes. It does.”

* * *

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Thinking of leaving the hospital was deeply troubling for Andy and would have remained that way if Dr. Allen hadn’t intervened.  
  
As they were waiting at the elevators saying polite goodbyes, Dr. Allen smiled at Wanda and Carlo and said, “Andy’s staying. I know you were gonna bring her back, so why don’t you bring her back some clothes instead, please.”   
  
Before Andy could answer, Caroline’s eyes narrowed, “Why is that? What’s up?”  
  
“Up? Price of gas? The rent? I just think your mama would feel a lot better with Andy here, that’s all.” She looked at Wanda and barely tilted her head.  
  
Wanda nodded. “Dr. Allen is right. We will bring clothes back and Andy can shower here and take care of your mami. It’s good for her to have someone to stay. Let’s go.”   
  
The children stalled as the elevator door opened and Wanda said again, far more firmly. “We are leaving now.”  
  
The Priestly children had learned that a firm tone from Wanda was something to be reckoned with and they obediently followed Juan Carlo and Carlo onto the elevator.  
  
As the doors closed upon them, Dr. Allen turned on Andy, “Now just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Before Andy could answer, she heard a woman’s voice behind her, “None of that Texas tornado crap on my floor, Susie—not with my patient.”  
  
Andy watched Dr. Allen’s body tense at the voice, and then relax into a guarded posture as she grinned. “Oh God. You?”  
  
“Said Adam to Eve, Eve to the snake. Before the uh oh God part, by the way.”  
  
The voice was feminine, warm and unexpectedly sultry. Andy turned to find a petite blonde woman in lime green scrubs behind her. Her nametag read “Esme” and she smiled at Andy, who returned the smile uncertainly.  
  
Esme was an electrifyingly attractive woman in her late 30s but her diminutive stature was belied by a tone that was incredibly stern as she introduced herself, “Esme McDonald, and you’re Andy Sachs and Miranda Priestly will be my patient tonight.”  
  
As they shook hands, Esme smiled past Andy to Dr. Allen, “And this doctor? Who is not my patient’s doctor and is about to read you the riot act about the fact there have been at least ten people visiting a quite seriously ill patient’s room in the last 24 hours? She’s going to cease and desist and let me handle this, isn’t she?  Because, as an ER doc, unless you’re bleeding in front of her, she doesn’t quite understand you’re a survivor of this violent trauma yourself, does she?”  
  
This was said without equivocation and Andy whipped her attention toward Dr. Allen, who stared for a moment and lowered her head. “Fair enough Es. You’re right.”  
  
Esme socked the doctor lightly on the shoulder, “When haven’t I been? Except in one ruinously notable instance?”  
  
She turned, asking, “May I call you Andy?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Follow me and let me show you what we’re working with.”  
  
They followed Esme to the nurses’ station and the woman took an X-ray film from an envelope in Miranda’s chart. She slapped it on the light box on the wall.  
  
Andy gasped. She wasn’t a radiologist but even she could see it was an arm shattered in multiple pieces.  
  
“That’s Miranda’s humerus when she got here, okay?”  
  
Andy nodded as Esme replaced that X-ray with another on the box. It was, Andy thought, both technically impressive and horrifying. Soft black and soft white of human flesh and bone contrasted with the stark white of the inhuman, synthetic.  
  
“That’s Miranda’s left arm now. 37 pins.”  
  
Esme turned to Andy and placed her hand on the younger woman’s arm, “I don’t know you. But I’ve read Miranda’s chart. And her notes from her last stay here. We have every hope that she’ll make a full recovery but this, with her tremendous blood loss, was a life-threatening injury, Andy. Far worse than her injury before. So? I made the call. Vasquez agreed and this is an order, you understand? She cannot have visitors except for you for five days. She’s that sick, okay?”  
  
Andy, who’d visibly blanched, nodded.  
  
“Listening, Andy?”  
  
Andy swallowed and nodded.  
  
“I’m the best nurse in this hospital. You’re taking great care of her but I’m also going to take care of her. I promise you. You need to take yourself off of DefCon5 and take care of yourself, okay?”  
  
Andy nodded again.  
  
Esme grabbed the chart and a bag of supplies, “Okay. Now let’s go see my patient.”  
  
As they walked down the hall, Dr. Allen said, “Damn, Es, you mean you haven’t even seen her and you’re already pulling rank?”  
  
“Can I read a chart, Susie?”  
  
Dr. Allen glanced at Esme and grinned, “Yes, ma’am. You always could.”  
  
“That’s what I like to hear. I have other patients—let’s get this one settled.”  
  
As they entered Miranda’s room, the woman was sobbing. Andy rushed forward and tentatively put her hand on Miranda’s leg, “What’s wrong sweetie?”  
  
She glared at Andy, “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve been trying to decide. Wait—it might be my arm. And oh wait yet again? How can I miss you if you won’t go away?”  
  
Andy gave her a tepid smile and kissed her sweating brow softly. “I couldn’t leave you, sweetheart. This is Esme, your night nurse.”  
  
Miranda’s voice was ice, “Delighted to meet you. Are you here to watch me suffer, as well?”  
  
Esme smiled, “You too for the meeting part and no for the suffering part. And I know everyone calls you Miranda so we’ll skip all that. I’m going to hook you up and find out how you’re doing. And then I’m going to chart it and give you the extra pain meds I know you need, alright?”  
  
Miranda’s face changed slightly at this. “Proceed. And could you please render me unconscious?”  
  
“No, but it’ll be very close—and I think you need it. On a scale from 1-10, what’s your pain level?"  
  
“15, and I don’t tend toward hyperbole.”  
  
Esme nodded and put the leads to the heart telemetry on Miranda’s chest, put a blood pressure cuff on her good arm and a pulse oximeter on her finger. “There we go.”  
  
She watched as the equipment adjusted itself, then at the stats presented. She asked without needing an answer, “Dr. Allen, I think we can call all that a reaction to extreme pain, don’t you?”   
  
“Definitely.”  
  
Esme logged this in Miranda’s chart. “Back in a couple of minutes with more medicine, okay? Once you get that onboard, I’ll do the rest of my evaluation. It’ll be lights out, Miranda. Andy? Say goodnight.”  
  
Dr. Allen smiled and patted Miranda’s arm, “You’ll feel nothing at all soon.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“See you when you wake up, Miranda.”  
  
“You keep saying that,” Miranda grimaced, “It’s almost romantic.”  
  
“Hey!” Andy protested.  
  
“Oh right, Junior’s in the room.”  
  
The doctor grinned and patted Miranda’s arm. “See you tomorrow.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dr. Allen gave Andy a brief hug and left the room.  
  
As she closed the door Esme was striding toward her with a syringe.  
  
“Thanks, Es.”  
  
“For patient care? My job.”  
  
“You know what,” Dr. Allen placed herself between the nurse and the room. “For getting right on it.”  
  
Esme looked up into the doctor’s kind and distant eyes, “What can I say, Susie? The charge nurse called me. And like I wouldn’t answer any time I knew it was for you?”  
  
Dr. Allen leaned against the corridor wall, “I didn’t even know you were home. Or here again.”  
  
“Why would you? No need for you to know where I am anymore.” Her voice was wistful but she immediately straightened her posture, “And that’s on me. And I know it. And I’m keeping my patient waiting. And you’re missing your guy. Jake’s closing that graft in, I’d say, about 20. Looking great.”  
  
“You watched Jake?”  
  
Esme’s shoulders sank but her face was completely unreadable, “Yeah. I can’t exactly watch you, can I?”   
  
Dr. Allen flinched at the words but she pulled the woman into a hug, “Glad you’re back, Es.”  
  
Esme gripped the woman tightly before breaking the hug and forcing a chuckle, “Get out of here, heartbreaker.”  
  
“No. Don’t.” Dr. Allen looked down at her, wondering if this, them, would ever be any less painful. “That was you, Es. You know I would have done—”  
  
“I know. I know.” Esme stopped her, “Don’t I know it?” She chuckled again and mimicked jabbing the syringe in her own arm, “So get out of here. Give my love to Jake for me, okay?”  
  
“Will do.”

* * *

Andy ran her thumb gently over Miranda’s forehead, as Esme slowly pushed the syringe into the woman’s IV line. Her eyes fluttered and she was out.  
  
Esme looked at the telemetry. “There you go. She’s fine. And I’ll keep an eye on her. Go get some rest and a shower.”  
  
Andy kissed Miranda’s forehead before saying, “So? You and Dr. Allen?”  
  
Esme ignored this, “Glove up—I could call a nurse assistant but I know you’ll do.”  
  
Andy washed her hands and donned gloves.  
  
“Just in case,” Esme said. “Hold her arm here—and here.”  
  
Andy did so and as Esme unwrapped the arm, she saw what no one had let her see yet.  
  
“Jesus Christ!”  
  
“Yeah—but it looks good,” Esme said as she inspected it, “Very good.”  
  
“Uh, I think I want to faint now.”  
  
Esme jerked her head up, “Really?”  
  
“Well, no—but it’s…”  
  
“Scary. Yes.”  
  
“It’s sort of horrible.”  
  
“Survivable.”  
  
“It’s really painful, isn’t it?”  
  
“Excruciating.”  
  
“I didn’t really know, you know. No one told me.”  
  
“No. The general idea is? It would upset the family.”  
  
“Fuck that? Unlike her reaction to pain? That wouldn’t upset me?”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
Esme wrapped the arm and pinned it again. “She’s looking really good, and she’ll feel a lot better getting more rest. She didn’t have enough on board to handle her pain.” Esme tidied Miranda’s covers and said, “Go rest—I’ll take care of her.”  
  
Andy nodded, hesitated and repeated, “It’s none of my business but you and Dr. Allen?”  
  
Esme tilted her head? “Yes?”  
  
“You were…”  
  
“It isn’t but I’ll answer because she would. We were. For three years and I wouldn’t commit to her and she wanted it. So I left her. She got on with her life.”  
  
“With a man?”  
  
“Why not? Did you always date women?”  
  
Andy bowed her head, “No. Never.”  
  
The smaller woman cleared her supplies as she said, “So what? Are you judging her for that? She found someone she truly loved. Haven’t you? Or are you just a tourist in the lesbian army?”  
  
Andy saw the fire in Esme’s eyes. She was baiting her.  
  
“No. I’m marrying her. I love her.”  
  
“I thought so.” Esme smiled. “And Susie married Jake. It’s not a crime, Andy. Loving someone’s not a crime. I have other patients. Go home and rest.”

* * *

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Although the directive was clear, Andy didn’t follow it. “I’m not leaving, Esme.”  
  
The nurse turned and eyed her, “You need rest—and a shower.”  
  
“No dissing the hygiene. I’m doing my best. I can get both here. A friend’s bringing clothes for me. I won’t let Wanda stay. I promise I won’t and I’ll shower in her bathroom but I can’t leave her.”  
  
Andy placed her hand on Miranda’s shoulder, “She’s mine and she needs me. I won’t leave her. Would you leave?”  
  
Esme softened, “No. I wouldn’t. You have a good thing, don’t you?” She lightly jerked her thumb between Andy and Miranda.  
  
Andy patted Miranda’s shoulder, “Best ever.”  
  
“Stay then. Don’t leave her and don’t lose it.”  
  
“I couldn’t imagine either.”  
  
“Come get some coffee in the nurses’ station later if you want, okay? I bring the good stuff. Life’s too short to drink crappy coffee.”  
  
Andy hissed her reply, “I know right? I hate hospital coffee.”  
  
“Who doesn’t? But as Susie would say? It’s our way of telling people to get the hell out of Dodge. I’ll keep it as quiet as I can tonight but looking at her labs? She’s going to need another unit of blood. And you know what that means?”  
  
“Full light and two nurses to confirm the unit.”  
  
“You got it. I can’t say when.”  
  
“Does it matter?”  
  
Esme scratched her temple, “Not that much. Time in the hospital’s like Vegas.”  
  
“No shit.” Andy grinned, “So later. And thanks.”  
  
“It’s my job.”  
  
“No,” Andy said firmly, “Nursing is your job. Caring about the people you nurse is all you.”  
  
Esme smiled, “I do care. And thank you.”

* * *

As the door closed, Miranda huffed, “I thought she’d never leave.”  
  
Andy jumped like someone had pinched her and stared at Miranda, “You _faker!_ ”  
  
Miranda looked imminently pleased with herself, “Only about sleep I assure you, not about sexual matters.”  
  
Andy placed both hands on her hips, “Oh sweetie? I _know_ that. But why now?”  
  
“Why not? Pull up a chair and not that rolling monstrosity. It’s too cumbersome.”  
  
Andy grabbed the visitor’s chair Serena had brought earlier and disengaged the bed’s guardrail on Miranda’s good side.  
  
“Why are you awake?”  
  
Miranda sang, “I…have…become…comfortably numb.”  
  
“For God’s sake, Pink Floyd? You?”  
  
The woman turned glassy yet fully alert eyes toward Andy. “And why not? If you want to be pedantic and it would be a losing battle with me? That band’s my era, not yours.”  
  
“Here we go.” Andy smiled and took Miranda’s hand. A fussier Miranda was a healthier one. “Doesn’t answer my question, sweetheart. Why are you awake? You need to get some rest.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes rolled as she cast her eyes toward the ceiling, “The medication is marvelous, believe me. Isn’t that nice? Two ems—letter Ms—not Emilys, God forbid. The consonants? _M_ edication. _M_ arvelous.”  
  
She snapped her eyes toward Andy and whispered, “I had to pretend to be asleep so you could snoop.” Miranda’s tone was so conspiratorial that Andy realized these were serious med levels indeed.  
  
“Snoop?”  
  
“Yes! You got the scoop on Dr. Allen! Like all good reporters, you literally have no couth. I was counting on that. You just asked! I’m so proud of you.”  
  
Andy looked into Miranda’s eyes and found such a sweet and loving expression in them that she had to snort before replying, “Of all the backhanded compliments you’ve ever paid me, Miranda, and most of ‘em are, by the way? That’s one of your winners.”  
  
Miranda ignored this, “I _knew_ she was gay—or gayish. My gaydar is infallible.”  
  
“Really? You have infallible gaydar?”  
  
“Please. I work in fashion, Andrea. That’s a given. I’ve had to fine-tune my heterosexual detector. We’re talking to the precision of an electron microscope.”  
  
Andy leaned into Miranda’s space from her chair. She sighed happily as Miranda ran her good, available hand through her hair. This happened so rarely, Miranda talking like a regular person, which she wasn’t.  
  
“She has a crush on you,” Andy said into the bed.  
   
“Dr. Allen? Of course she does. Perfectly reasonable. But that Esme?” Miranda continued in a high girlish voice that was all her and not Esme, “Come get some coffee, Andy—I’ll keep it piping hot for you.”   
  
Andy laughed, “You’re so full of shit, Miranda, I don’t know how I live with you.”  
  
“At your peril, apparently.” Miranda adjusted herself in the bed, “Do you want to know why I’m chattering like this and I do, by the way, know that I am?”  
  
Just a certain tone of voice. Andy looked up and things had changed. There she was again. Miranda.  
  
Andy tightened her grip on Miranda’s hand. “Sure.”  
  
“I feel, physically?”  
  
She turned to confirm that Andy was really listening. As if, Andy thought, anyone wouldn’t be with that tone of voice.  
  
“I feel like someone tried to kill me and very nearly succeeded. And that’s agony for me, for more than physical reasons.”  
  
Andy bowed her head and Miranda surprised her by resuming the running of her fingers through soft brown hair.  
  
“It’s really not easy to be hurt or to know I can be. I’ve made my life…I mean I’ve tried to make my life bullet-proof. But I haven’t and I’m not. Knowing that’s painful to me. Do you understand that? Do you understand the physical, as bad as it is and it’s torture? That it’s the least of this?”  
  
Andy nodded and gave a muffled response, “It’s my fault.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not sorry about it, Andy. Being this vulnerable? It’s the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me but I’m not sorry.”   
  
Andy looked up.  
  
“It shouldn’t make me happy but it does.” Miranda tilted her head slightly on the pillow as she said, “Do I make you happy? Honestly?”  
  
There it was. Again. Andy took a few seconds before saying, “Honestly? No. You rarely make me happy.” She kissed Miranda’s knuckles, “But I am happy and it’s because of you and you’re everything I want. I want what you give me—and I’ll leave all that mushy stuff for the wedding. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”  
  
“Really? I don’t make you happy and you still want to get married?’  
  
Andy jerked her head back, “Are you serious? You’ve been shot twice already, girlfriend. Don’t _make_ me cut you.”  
  
Miranda laughed, a real laugh, and accepted the change of tone in their conversation. “The other reason I’m trying to stay awake?  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I want to be conscious and feel this arm isn’t hurting me. It’s really odd when you’re in such pain…and I’m talking animal pain, sheer stupid animal pain. To feel the absence of it? It’s unbelievable. Do you understand? Or maybe you don’t. Or can’t. But I’m telling you, you want to stay there, in that moment, and just enjoy the absence of pain.”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
“Like I do with you almost on a nightly basis. I force myself to stay awake for a while so I can feel you there, sleeping in my arms.”  
  
Andy gripped Miranda’s hand more tightly.  
  
“You? Andrea? Are my absence of pain.”  
  
Andrea looked into Miranda’s eyes, acknowledging what she’d said but knowing she needed to change a subject too heavy for them.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about our dresses for the wedding.”  
  
Miranda smiled and Andy could see relief. She’d hit the right note.  
  
“Perfect, Andrea. You have me drugged, I can’t move and you want to speak of fashion. Pray continue.”  
  
“Don’t be mean.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Stop it. I’ve been thinking…”  
  
“Stop the presses,” Miranda whispered.  
  
“I will cut you.”  
  
“With what? Paper? Words? Not even scissors?”  
  
Andy continued,  “Whatever, Miranda. Dresses. Wedding. Here are my thoughts, okay?”  
  
“I’m breathless.”  
  
“Shut up! It’s not easy to say what you want to wear to the global empress of fashion, okay? Fuck you. I mean, it’s my wedding too!”  
  
Miranda looked at her and saw what she always did in such outbursts. Affection, fondness and fire. A real irritation masked with false bravado. It reassured her immensely to know that Andy felt comfortable telling her to shut up and curse her. No one else in her life had ever done so—or at least, not more than once. To her face, she edited immediately.  
  
“You’re completely correct, Andrea. Tell me what you’re thinking, darling.”  
  
“I’m thinking I don’t want white. I mean, I get the image but I just can’t see that for me. I’m not a virgin princess and we both know that.”  
  
Miranda’s lips lifted in a semi-smile, “So you’re the bride, I take it?”  
  
“Of course I am!” Andy waved her hand, “Don’t even start with me. I want pink.”  
  
Miranda adjusted her head on the pillow. “Pink?”  
  
“Not rock star pink. I mean…”Andy blushed as she said it, “You like it a lot when I’m all excited or a little embarrassed and…”  
  
“Ahhh…exactly the color you are now?”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes but nodded. “Yes. I thought maybe you could choose a color that would make me look this way. I thought that would make you happy—to know only you make me look this way.”  
  
Miranda looked at her young, embarrassed lover for seconds that seemed like days to Andy. “I know just the color. That would be perfect, Andrea.”  
  
Andy’s smile was radiant. “Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
Miranda enjoyed the moment before saying, “That doesn’t mean you get to choose your dress. You understand that?”  
  
“Whatever. This isn’t my Day One with you, thank God. And you get to wear blue. If you will—for me?”  
  
“You want me in blue?”  
  
“Yeah,” Andy said shyly, ‘for your eyes because they’re so pretty when you’re wearing blue.”  
  
Looking into those deeply amused blue eyes, Andy’s voice immediately changed, “You know what? Fuck the fuck off about that cerulean thing.”  
  
“That’s what I love about you, Andy. Vocabulary and romance.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Such concision! Kill me now, Eros!”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Miranda smirked as she took Andy’s hand but said quietly, “I will wear blue, my love. For you.”  
  
She released Andy's hand, “If you want the truth, which I’ll tell you on drugs?”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
“I know nearly every color in the world by name but I don’t have a color for you. There really is no color for you.”  
  
They looked at each other for a long moment. “You need some rest. I’ll take a shower and change when Wanda gets back. Otherwise? I’ll be here. Okay?”  
  
“Andy?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Exactly? Think again. My question is yes or no?”  
  
Andy didn’t hesitate. She leaned over the bed, kissed Miranda very softly on the lips and whispered, “My answer will never be anything but yes.”

* * *

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.  
> As a reminder? Avery Jenkins is the children’s principal and Sylvia is her assistant.

* * *

One hour later, Andy was equally parts pleased and truly exasperated with Miranda, which was par for the course of daily life. The additional morphine had greatly eased the woman’s pain but she was still fighting sleep so they were lazily talking about next to nothing layered with sharp, random spikes of meaning, as Andy had found sick, drugged people tended to inject into conversation.

Andy laughed, “Did you actually just call Nate a swarthy monkey?”  
  
“I’ve seen the pictures.”  
  
Andy smirked at her, “Okay, first of all? He doesn’t look like a monkey. He’s actually very handsome. But I’ll grant you his complexion is darker than yours and so are his eyes and hair.”  
  
Miranda sniffed, “They could scarcely be lighter or he’d be an albino, wouldn’t he? And yes, I suppose if one likes simian features, he could be considered wildly attractive.”  
  
“Why are we talking about Nate again?”  
  
“I don’t like him and despise the way he left you. Although disappearing from your life without a word of explanation while you were in Paris?” There was a malicious glint in her eyes, “Indicates to me that you were meant for each other.”   
  
Andy couldn’t help but choke back a laugh. “Touché. And are you serious? This topic,” she waved her hand at the room, “now?”  
  
“When else?”  
  
“We’ve discussed it. I didn’t like the way he left, either, but he did and that’s why I was free to be with you, sweetie.”  
  
“Don’t be nonsensical, Andrea,” Miranda tilted her head, “He left you because of me, did he not?”  
  
Oh, for God’s sake.  
  
“Fine. Yes. _Runway_? You? Both about the same thing to him, okay?”  
  
“We haven’t actually discussed this part of it. The way he left said so much about him to me. Left without a word and wouldn’t return your calls but so kindly left two months’ rent on the dresser. That had a dual purpose, by the way—to undercut your ability to think him a complete bastard and to suggest you were a whore, correct?”  
  
Andy’s face hardened, “Thank you. I know the symbolism. I’m a woman.”   
  
“And yet you defend him. Why is that?”  
  
Andy was really too tired for this and so was Miranda but those glassy blue eyes demanded an answer so she gave her one. “Because he was the first person I ever really loved, the first person I ever lived with and he gave me a hell of a lot of happy memories that I will always cherish. I hurt him, okay? I changed the rules of the game. Not him. Yeah, he was a complete asshole about it but I know him and you don’t. I loved him and if you don’t like the fact that I still think of him kindly, you’ll just have to suck it up. He wasn’t perfect and neither was I. Because Miranda,” Andy said as she tapped the woman’s good arm, “I, for one, am a grownup. There doesn’t have to be a winner.”  
  
Miranda stared at her for a long moment and then she smiled a real smile. “Well played, Andrea.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Miranda relaxed into her pillows in a way that Andy hoped meant she was going to drift off. Her voice was quiet, “People do that all the time, you know.”  
  
“What’s that, sweetheart?”  
  
She sighed, “Nate felt used so he left a not-so-gentle suggestion he’d used you.”  
  
She turned to Andy, “Has this emotional ignoramus who didn’t know him probably gotten that right?”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
“I only meant to say it wasn’t kind and I’m angry he treated you that way. But life’s like that. You’re hurt so you hurt back and take your petty personal victories but, really, what do they mean in the end?”  
  
Andy shrugged, “Not much, I suppose.”  
  
“Less than nothing, I promise you. I didn’t do it, you know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I didn’t blackball Alicia.”  
  
Andy snapped to attention, “You didn’t? But—“  
  
“But I said I did? Suggested I had. Yes, yes. Why bother? I knew she’d sink to her own level.”  
  
Miranda tried to adjust herself on her pillows and Andy jumped to reinforce them.  
  
“Thank you.” From the dozy grin Miranda gave her, Andy saw she was really getting close to falling asleep, “I’m like a mob boss, Andy. Sometimes I have to send a message that truly hurts people and has collateral damage—like for Nigel in Paris. But daily? I just suggest it and it’s done. I told Alicia I’d hurt her and that was her perception. I don’t have to go out of my way to hurt anyone anymore. I’m not really interested in hurting people.”  
  
“I know that, honey.”  
  
“But I would. I’m just as mean and just as petty as Nate when I’m hurt and that’s what makes me angry with him. I don’t particularly like him because he reminds me I’d probably do worse were I in his place.” She picked at her blanket with her good hand, “It saddens me, knowing you haven’t had an upgrade.”  
  
Andy thought about that as she ran a hand through Miranda’s hair, then took the woman’s good hand and kissed it, “Actually, you’re one hell of an upgrade, for better or worse, but luckily we’ll never find out the whole worse side because you’ll never be in his place. I mean, how would that even work, exactly? To scale? I’d have to meet someone ten million times bigger and more prepossessing than you are. Not even possible and no thank you. You’re more than enough.”  
  
Miranda was quiet for longer than felt comfortable but neither spoke before Miranda finally said, “I’m tired, Andrea.”  
  
End of discussion. Andy understood.  “Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“Stop that. And I’m proud of you.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Getting through five minutes without cursing at me.”  
  
Andy looked at Miranda and actually blushed, “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll work on that,” she grinned, “with Caroline. I’m—“  
  
“Exhausted and I’m difficult. You have to fight back somehow. In other breaking news…”  
  
Andy’s grin widened, “No more talking. Get some rest. I’ll be here unless I’m using the phone and then I’ll be right back.” She ran her fingers through Miranda’s hair again. “Just so we’re clear? We’ve both had other loves in our lives, Miranda. But we’re the loves of each other’s lives. There’s a difference. Accept it, okay? I do.”   
  
“Oh, alright,” Miranda murmured hazily, “If you’re going to be adult about things, I think I’ll…”  
  
And she was out.  
  
Finally.  
  
Andy placed Miranda’s hand gently on the bed, then plopped into the recline-a-bit. What a day. Nothing was better than having your patient peacefully sleeping for a few hours. Nothing. Pressure off. She ran both hands through her hair, remembering vaguely something her mother had once told her. That, occasionally, as infant Andy had finally, finally fallen asleep, she’d just lie down and sleep on the floor of the nursery room.   
  
Miranda.  
  
Andy realized it was more than normal to feel insecure after having been shot and having been threatened by death but all of this? No true insecurity about the shooting, her life, her health, the children, the job, the…anything…nothing important. Just all of this insecurity aimed at her, at even Nate, for God’s sake, at their relationship and what did that mean?  
  
She scrubbed her hands over her face and thought and knew. It meant everything.   
  
She shook her head. Miranda’s only insecurity was her.  
   
It was a sinking, awful feeling. Miranda’s sole insecurity, the most important thing in her life, was her. Only her.  
  
Miranda had told her this but Andy hadn’t really chosen to absorb it because, A— words like that between lovers were often just words and B—those words were huge. She sat with the feeling of knowing the truth of them for a few minutes.    
  
Although she didn’t like to think about it, Miranda was right. They loved each other and needed each other, of course, but Miranda needed her in a very different way. Andy would be completely miserable without Miranda but she’d live and move on. Miranda might live but would not.  
  
Andy watched her resting so peacefully and faced both the woman and that fact. As she gazed at Miranda, it made her heart literally jump to know this one completely improbable person loved her so much.  
  
She closed her eyes and made a vow to God and to herself, something she knew was far more solemn than any vow she’d say to Miranda on their wedding day. She would never leave. No matter what it may cost her because, if she were honest, she had no idea what it might. She gritted her teeth because she couldn’t stand the next thought but continued to pray that when it came time for one of them to die and she hoped it would be a long, long time away, that it would be Miranda first. Because that would be fair and that would be natural. She whispered, “Amen,” as she opened her eyes.  
  
And she thought as she did so, _I’m growing up._

* * *

After closing her eyes for 15 minutes but forcing herself not to sleep, she bolted up. Calls to make. She kissed Miranda’s forehead, left the room, and turned her phone on. And stared at it. Okay. Emily blowing up her phone and one message from Wanda. She bolted down the hall and outside the wing, then called Emily.  
  
“Finally.”  
  
“Sorry—you know how it is.”  
  
“Regrettably. Give me your news and I’ll give you Pearl Harbor.”  
  
“She can’t have visitors for five days—she’s really bad, Em.”  
  
Andy could hear the anxiety in Emily’s voice ratchet up, “And what does that mean? She seemed perfectly—“  
  
“She has 37 pins in her arm, Em. She could have died. She’s sick and needs to recuperate.”  
  
Andy could hear Emily, could even visualize Emily’s face, as she took a deep breath.  
  
“Yes. Right. So I deputize Nigel for five days, is that the idea?”  
  
“Generally.”  
  
“Done. Tell her it’s in the bag. Nothing to worry about. The reason I’ve called you so many times to no avail is to alert you of something you need to step in front of the children for."  
  
Andy stood up much straighter, “What?”  
  
“Jeremy Benjamin called me. Someone’s stolen the security tape of the shooting at the restaurant and put it on YouTube.”  
  
“No way.”  
  
“Way. And a few of the diners have added cell phone videos. The people at YouTube are taking them down as often as they can but they’re popping up again and again. I’ve managed to see them many times.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“How succinct. I thought you might want to extend the cell, web and TV embargo I know you have on the children for at least another day until we can deal with it as a family.” Emily paused, “They will see it, Andy. Everyone will see it. We can’t stop that.”  
  
Andy smiled at the word ‘we’ Emily clearly didn’t register she was using. “You’re right. I’ll call Wanda and Magdalena now. Thank you.”  
  
“It’s my job.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Andy?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I will say this once and you will not rub it in my face, do you hear me?”  
  
Andy scratched the wallpaper on the corridor wall with her nails as she replied, “Yes?”  
  
“You were right and I was wrong. After seeing what happened? You were right to let Miranda handle the situation.”  
  
Andy slumped, then rested her head on the wall, “I was?”  
  
“Yes. You were. Don’t make me repeat myself.”  
  
Andy smiled at nothing, at the corridor, maybe. “Thank you, Emily.”  
  
“You’re making me repeat myself. It’s my job.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Tell Miranda…tell her that I…well…that Serena and I actually, I didn’t mean just me, obviously…love her and to get well and we hope to see her soon.”  
  
Andy forced herself not to laugh at the sheer anxiety in that voice saying those words, “Did you just say that, Em?”  
  
“Again? Don’t make me repeat myself.”  
  
“Got it. Thanks. I’ll tell her. And Em?”  
  
“What now?  
  
“She loves you, too. I mean both of you. But you, especially, and I mean that.”  
  
A long pause.  
  
“Yes. Well. Right. Call me if there’s anything you need on my end.”  
  
“Will do.”

* * *

Okay.  
  
One good thing. The emergency plan was working. This was what she and Miranda had decided upon after the first shooting and had discussed with Emily. The children’s cell phones had been confiscated and cable access to TV was disconnected. Every computer in the house was locked with an administrative password. The children may scour the Internet afterward but their first access to information about an emergency concerning their family would be with adults present.  
  
Andy called the house and Magdalena answered, saying without preface, “Ah ah ah—the real Emily says it and yes, the children are playing games.”  
  
“Good. Just until I get home in the morning. I think we need to show it to them together. Whatever it is. I haven’t even seen it, have you?”  
  
“Of course. I ran upstairs with my password.”  
  
“How bad is it?”  
  
“Pft! Like her in our kitchen, maybe? _Loco_. You can’t believe it. She stares at the crazy with the gun like she stares at Patricia when she barks.” Magdalena paused, “You tell her I am so proud and I will poison you.”   
  
Andy blinked. “Okay. Could I speak to Wanda and has she seen it?”  
  
“Of course. I showed her. She and Carlo. But I get your meaning. To speak to the nice Latina, not the mean one.”  
  
“No. I mean about Juan Carlo and school, Magdalena.”  
  
“Say what you will. I know what I know.”  
  
“Magdalena.”  
  
“I am making a little joke for you. I have humor.”  
  
Andy smiled at the corridor again, “Of course you do.”  
  
After a long conversation about showing the children the video so they would be properly prepared for school and keeping them out another day, they agreed she’d call John and Dalton.  
  
John was easy. He agreed with everything they were doing.  
  
The school? Dalton was easy.

* * *

Less easy for Dalton on the other end. Sylvia called Avery Jenkins at home, on a ringtone Avery always answered.  
  
She listened and said, “I agree. The twins shouldn’t come to school tomorrow, but Sylvia? I understand you’re following the rules but hear me. Miranda, John, Andy and the Castillos have obviously decided, to some extent, to co-parent their children, so we will consider Juan Carlo their sibling in our school. He’s excused as well. Do you understand?”  
  
She listened and said, “Yes. Thank you. Send me the link and I’ll watch. And Sylvia? I appreciate your work. You’re an amazing assistant.”  
  
She crossed into the kitchen and butted her head against the shoulder of her husband Allen, who was patiently stirring a seafood gumbo for a rather late dinner. “Put that on low, Al. It’ll simmer. Watch three of my kid’s mom on YouTube.”  
  
“Ah, geesh. Who?”  
  
“Miranda Priestly.”  
  
“No? Really? Ah, geesh.”  
  
Avery smiled as he followed her out of the kitchen. He was a wildly educated man but swore like a sailor so he’d imposed on himself a new no-swearing regimen that was brutally limiting him.  
  
“I do love a man with a vocabulary, Al.”  
  
“That’s why you married me, smarta—smarty-pants.”  
  
Avery grinned at him, then pulled up her email server. “Sylvia’s been poring over the Internet and downloaded the best video she could find. She said she was emailing it to me.”  
  
She opened the email:  
  
 _Ms. Jenkins.  
  
Attached, you will find a video that captures what the Internet has to offer concerning the Priestly matter. The author of this video has done a remarkable job on the audio and it is possible to hear the entire encounter.  
  
I will mark Caroline, Cassidy and Juan Carlo excused from attendance tomorrow, as per your direction.  
  
Call me, of course, if you need anything more.  
  
Sylvia_  
  
She gave him room to read over her shoulder and he said, “Sylvia has a crush on you, Avery.”  
  
“Yes. I know that, bless her. I think it’s the whole headmistress thing.”  
  
“That, plus you’re hot.”  
  
“Thank you. That too. It’ll pass. Okay—let’s see.”  
   
They watched the video with a degree of disbelief Avery thought would probably be anyone’s reaction to seeing it.  
  
At the end of it, Al shook his head and said with fierce enthusiasm, “What in the hell—sorry—heck was that? Who am I kidding? Really? Sorry—I gotta say it like me. She faces down that lunatic, dares her to shoot her, gets her damned arm shot to hell, doesn’t even blink and the technical term for it is ouch? No. The technical term for that is badass. And for the record? Badass is not a curse word—it’s a statement of fact.”  
   
Avery shook her head and smiled, “Al? Imagine a parent-principal conference with her.”  
  
He gave it a moment’s thought, “Oh yeah. Well, wow. Geesh.”   
  
She smiled at him. “As you know, my darling, I educate the children of a lot of famous people—musicians, actors, politicians, what have you. But when I meet them, to a person, they always seem smaller than they do in my mind or on television. The only exception to that is Miranda. She seems larger.”  
  
“Really? Because she doesn’t look—“  
  
“No no. I don’t mean physically. She’s not even as tall as I am and quite slender. She’s just larger…than life, actually. You hear that phrase tossed around but she’s the only person I’ve ever met that it fits. She walks into the room and it’s full.”  
  
Al looked at her quizzically and she paused, wondering how to explain, “You know how when you’re in an elevator and you see on the little plaque that its capacity is maybe 15 people?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“If I were in an elevator like that and Miranda walked into it? Pow! It would be full. In fact, I think I’d be a little claustrophobic about it. I’d think she would be too, actually.”

* * *

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.
> 
> As a reminder, Peter Sagong is Miranda's FBI friend.

* * *

The cast was off. And four months of dealing with Miranda in a cast and sling hadn’t been necessarily bad, Emily had decided. On the other hand being dipped into the core of a nuclear reactor during a meltdown might be have been slightly less painful, but what was that, really? Serena was tremendously placating at home and what more could she ask? A steady daily diet of hell augmented with evening dollops of heaven.  
   
“Emily?”  
   
Martha chirped, “She means you.”  
   
Emily faux-scowled at Martha, who beamed at her. Emily had realized from week one she couldn’t intimidate Martha in any sense but they still played at it.  
   
Emily paced into the woman’s office and was met with, “I need for you to research a completely private place for a number of my family and friends to spend an extended four-day weekend in Vermont—any time in the next two months.”  
   
Emily wrote this down. “As you know, I never ask questions but I must in this situation. How many in your party?”  
   
“Me. Andrea, our children and Magdalena. The Castillos. Mary and Roy. Nigel. John and Cecelia, plus you and Serena, all of the Sachs family and Lily and Douglas. You will have to clear all of our schedules.”  
   
Emily stared at her. This was far worse, in a sense, than the time Miranda demanded a camel with a certain color fur be delivered to Paris for a photo shoot, because how did one do that exactly if a French camel of said color were unavailable? As an Englishwoman, she was naturally an animal lover, so she’d had to find out how to dye a camel in a camel-friendly way, which was neither inexpensive nor much fun for the camel, who’d quite reasonably resented it and had quickly gotten stroppy with everyone, including the models.  
   
The models had gotten stroppy right back because they didn’t feel as an inclusion in their job description the necessity to be repeatedly spat upon by an angry dyed camel. It had been one of the most contentious, tearful and angry shoots imaginable. But the photos were gorgeous and Miranda was blissfully unaware of, or pretended to be, the hell she’d put everyone through.   
   
Naturally, Miranda couldn’t know or perhaps wouldn’t care that this was so very, very much harder and not at all like re-scheduling Lagerfeld or Tom Ford, who lived for her and were very wealthy people. Clearing the schedules of people who had wildly disparate job descriptions, many of which were hourly rather than salaried with limited and very strict time-off regulations, was the matter of just saying it should happen, was it not?   
   
“Got it. Anything else?”  
   
“When you clear it?  Andrea and I need to fly out three business days ahead of our party and you need to book a justice of the peace in Vermont.”  
   
 “I do?”  
   
“Obviously. We’re getting married.”  
   
Although she realized a wedding was the result of an engagement, this was a complete surprise as far as timing was concerned. Emily merely nodded her head vigorously and thought for a few seconds. “But if we all go out of town for a long weekend that includes two working days and, for you, five working days, that leaves you and Nigel and me out of the picture. Who’s going to be running the magazine?”  
   
“Martha.”  
   
Emily thought _oh my God_ , but said, “Martha. I see.”  
   
“She’ll be fine, Emily. To be sure, Runway may morph into a men’s swimwear or Brazilian cuisine magazine in two business days but what other harm could she do?”  
   
Emily blinked her answer.   
   
“Right. No harm at all. And would you consider being my best man, so to speak?”  
   
Emily gaped at her and then closed her mouth before nearly whispering in disbelief, “Your best man?”  
   
“The nomenclature is inexact in this instance. I’m sure, however, you’re completely familiar with the concept. One asks someone whom one respects to stand beside one during marriage vows, and who would support one beyond every other person one knows? Because one trusts another above everyone else one might ask to support one in such a ceremony?”  
   
That was so inelegantly phrased and there was such a tremendous amount of emotional distancing with the multiple uses of ‘one’ in the question that Emily’s heart blossomed because she knew this meant Miranda was nervous.  
   
“I’d be honored, Miranda.”  
   
“Thank you. It would be my honor, as well.” She waved one hand, “As for planning the wedding, do what you think is best. I’m sure I’ll be completely delighted with it. Aren’t I always?” This was said with such a smirk that Emily felt both a deep love for Miranda and a concomitant desire to punch her in the head.  
   
She forced herself not to sigh. Emily Charlton, wedding planner.  
   
“Feel free to call Andrea about this. In fact, please do. I’m sure as the bride, she has something in mind. I don’t say that in the sense that I feel like the groom but she’s never been a bride. Certainly the most important thing for me, and by extension you, is to make sure the day is perfect for her. Also? You’ll have to fabricate a story to explain why we’re all getting together. This is a secret between you, me, Andrea, Serena and Martha.”  
   
Holy…Emily thought for a few moments. “A celebration of your survival, getting out of your cast and a reason for a party together we haven’t been able to have for months!”  
   
Miranda tilted her head. “That may work. That’s all.”

* * *

After telling Martha to man the phones, Emily strode down the hall and punched a number on her speed dial.  
  
“ _Mirror_. Sachs.”  
   
Emily hissed into the phone, “Finally, Andy. A crystal-clear motive for murdering you any reasonable jury would acquit me of.”  
   
“Oh hi, Em. So she told you, huh?”  
   
“How on Earth can she possibly expect me to clear the schedules of—“  
   
“Em? Breathe? I can see your face and I’m not even looking at you. You know it makes Miranda happy to believe she has choices so let’s let her think so but the only time we can reasonably do it is during the kids’ spring break. Thank God it’s after Easter this year. That means early April, okay? So that gives us the time slot. I’ve already told my family we’re having a little ‘Miranda’s out of her cast’ celebration in Vermont during that week and to clear their schedules—which they can and will. John and Cecelia are ready to go. I’ve already talked to Susan and Esme at the hospital and they’ll make sure we have Wanda clear for the week. Carlo was the hardest to get time off for and he’s the only one I had to tell the secret and he promised he wouldn’t even tell Wanda but he’d be there even if he had to work double shifts before or after. I’ve talked to Mary, who’ll be off with the kids because she’s a teacher and I’ll absolutely wrangle Doug and Lily. All you have to do is clear Miranda, you, Serena, Nigel and Roy and make the flight arrangements and the booking of the venue. I’m emailing you a few possibilities that looking promising. And don’t listen to Miranda about leaving three days early. No matter what she says, we’ll schedule a quick over and back flight on one day whenever in the next six weeks so we’ll be settled legally. So there. Feel better already?”  
   
Emily leaned against the wall in sheer, stupefied, nearly knee-buckling relief and admitted, “Immensely. Why did you ever leave me.” It wasn’t a question.   
   
“I would never have left you, Em. I _love_ you. I left Miranda. But believe me, sleeping with her is a better bargain than working for her.”  
   
“Something, thankfully, I’ll never find out.”  
   
“Or I’d thankfully better not find out about.”  
   
“This conversation’s over.”  
  
  
“Not yet. She asked you about your standing with her?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“It made her shy to ask me if she should, so I can’t imagine her with you. When she asked, did she ham-hand her way through it verbally?”  
   
“Surely you’re joking. Absolutely not. She spoke quite eloquently.”  
   
“Oh, really? Well, good. After you look at my ideas for venues, let’s talk about them and about flowers, the menu and cakes and stuff, okay?”  
   
“Yes. We shall and thank you for your efforts.”  
   
They rang off and Andy smiled. Emily’s defense told her Miranda’s asking must have been _so_ much worse than Andy had imagined. 

" _Mirror._ Sachs.”  
   
“Hi.”  
   
Andy’s mouth actually dropped open before she replied, “Nate?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Well…hi. What’s up? Your family’s okay, I hope.” Andy’s hand leapt from her mouse to her squishy stress ball.  
   
There was a pause as Nate realized that a death in the family would be the only reason she could think of for him to call. “Oh—right. No. I mean, sure. They’re all fine. I was just in the city and I was wondering if you might have coffee or lunch with me.”  
   
Andy nodded at her screen and realized that wasn’t exactly telegraphing over a phone. “Perhaps. Any particular reason why?”  
   
“Not really. I just wanted to talk. I mean, we never did after, well, you know…”  
   
She lowered her voice to a whisper, “We didn’t talk because you left money on the dresser, never called and never answered my calls, Nate.”  
   
“Well, that was shitty of me and I know it. I just wanted to sort of talk a little. Clear the air a little. If you will.”  
   
“Actually, the air’s been perfectly clear for me since you left. Blue skies even. I’ll meet you if Miranda’s okay with it. I’ll call her and call you back.”  
   
“Really? Still keeps you on a short leash, huh?”  
  
“Drop the attitude. I don’t need permission but she’s my fiancée, Nate. I’d never plan a meeting with an ex without gauging her comfort with it. Especially the only ex I ever lived with. It’s all up front with us. I’ll call you back.”  
  
“Good. Thanks.”  
   
Andy put the phone in the cradle and grabbed her cell phone. She wasn’t even sure she really wanted to meet Nate and was veritably certain the idea would go over like a lead balloon with Miranda. On one hand, if Miranda hated it, she’d have a reason not to go and on the other, she could ask for advice about whether she should. “I’m taking five, guys—outside.”  
   
She knew they all knew that meant a call to Miranda but neither she nor they particularly cared at this point. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, the idea of broaching this subject already made her stomach churn. She speed-dialed and waited.  
   
“Dragon’s lair. Dragon speaking.”  
   
Andy exhaled. At least the woman was in a good mood.  
   
“Hi, Miranda.”  
   
“Hello, Andrea.”  
   
Andy gritted her teeth before saying, “I need to run something by you. I just got a weird call and I wanted to ask your advice.”  
  
“Yes, it’s a rather inordinate demand to place on a journalist to fly to Indonesia for a piece about Indonesian batik but I’ve done it. Was it that kind of call?”  
   
Andy rolled her eyes. “No, Miranda. Nate called.”  
   
There was a long pause. “Fry-cook boy?”  
   
This still grated on Andy and she knew Miranda knew it. “No. Sous chef man.”  
   
Andy could almost hear the woman pursing her lips but what she replied surprised her, “I must say, it certainly took him long enough.”  
   
“Well, I’ll say but—wait a second—what?”  
   
“Was it not patently obvious to you that he’d call at some point after the news of our engagement? I’m sure he watched your close brush with death on YouTube. I’m only surprised he didn’t call sooner. I imagine he’s in the city and after all this time _finally_ wants to meet to talk with you.”  
   
“How’d you know that?”  
   
“I’ve met men. And I’ve met you. Of course he’d want to talk. What did he suggest?”  
   
“Coffee or lunch. I wanted to talk to you first before I confirmed and anyway I don’t even know if I want to go.”  
   
“Confirm. I think you should meet. His feelings are immaterial to me but you probably _need_ to talk, finally. Did you hear the reiteration of that word, Andrea? Finally?”  
   
“Like a Water-Pik in my ear.”  
   
“Good. Thank you for telling me beforehand.”  
   
“Of course I’d tell you. I love you.”  
   
“I love you, too. Call and confirm and have fun reminiscing with your penultimate lover.”  
   
Andy sighed, “Just had to get that dig in, didn’t you?”  
   
“Of course I did.”  
   
“Are you okay?”  
   
“Of course again. Why do you ask?”  
   
“You seem just a little too breezy about all this.”  
   
“We’re getting married, Andrea. Nate’s the one on the outside looking in. What do I have to worry about?”  
   
“Nothing at all.”  
  
“Correct. But I have one stipulation.”  
   
“Name it.”  
   
Miranda lowered her voice and said in an accent straight out of Brooklyn,  “You go big and you pay de tab—it’s de kissa death to guys like dat.”  
   
Andy smiled, “Will do, chief.” 

* * *

Andy called Nate back and said, “All good. I’m picking up the tab so tell me what restaurant you’d most like to visit and haven’t because of money or reservations. Sky’s the limit.”  
   
“You don’t have to pay.”  
   
“I pay or I don’t come. It’s a one-time offer. Name the restaurant, buddy.”  
   
“I’ve always wanted to try Eleven Madison Park.”  
   
“Great choice. Daniel’s a genius. How about 12:00? I’ll meet you outside.”  
   
“Today? You can get in? It’s 10:30! And you know Daniel Humm?”  
   
“Sure, I’ve met him a few times. And yeah, I can get in anywhere. We’ll go whole hog—the tasting menu instead of the four-course. Sorry I can’t do the wine pairing but fair warning—it’ll still take about three hours. I’ve put in so much overtime Mike won’t care but he’d care if I came back drunk. So, are we on?”  
   
“The tasting menu? Seriously?”  
  
“Seriously.”  
   
“I’m there.”  
   
“And just like that, I take second place to food.”  
   
He laughed, “Andy, c’mon. It’s a—“  
   
“Occupational hazard. No worries. I got it. I take second place to photo spreads all the time at home. See you soon. At least a jacket and tie and shave, mister!”  
   
He laughed again. “Will do.”

* * *

Andy saw him waiting for her as Roy pulled up to drop her off. After confirming with Miranda the time and destination for her peace of mind, Roy had called to say he was on his way. Andy had planned to take a taxi but she knew this was Miranda’s way of making a point and she knew it was a point both for Nate and for her. She accepted it. It wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to hitch a ride with a friend that was a tacit acknowledgement of Miranda’s jealousy, no matter what the woman had said. Arriving in a car with a private driver made a statement that wasn’t particularly nuanced.  
   
She looked at Nate through the window. Still Nate. She didn’t have to try to remember what she’d found attractive about him. Freshly shaven as ordered but there was nothing to do with his unruly hair. Black jeans and boots with a dress shirt, a skinny tie and a black suit coat. He looked as lovely as she’d once thought him.  
   
“Thanks, Roy.”  
   
“That the ex?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Cute for a guy, I guess.” Andy could hear the protective possessiveness for Miranda in his voice and it made her smile.  
   
“No, Roy. He’s beautiful. Beautiful like maybe you remember a fantastic trip to Disney as a child. I truly loved him but he’s my past.” She leaned forward and hugged him over the headrest. “Miranda’s my present and future. No worries.”  
   
He squeezed her arms gently, “Sorry. Just call me when you’re ready.”  
   
“Miranda doesn’t need you?”  
   
“Not when you’re out with Sir Used-Ta-Be.”  
   
“She’s impossible.”  
   
“Yeah. I swear to God she ordered me to call and tell her what he’s wearing. And don’t tell her I told you that.”  
   
“Tell her he looks smokin’ hot.”  
   
“Hot? Have you missed the fact _I’m_ a guy, Andy?”  
   
“Okay, tell her he’s wearing a skirt and a tiara and really must have something to tell me.”  
   
“Get out of this car before Flatiron goes bananas. Holding up traffic here.”  
   
She leaned forward again and kissed his cheek before opening the door.

As Andy stepped out of the black car and smiled at him, Nate’s breath hitched a little. Still Andy. But not. He’d seen her in photos but in person she looked older in a way he couldn’t really quantify and that the year plus since he’d seen her didn’t justify. It wasn’t her face—it was in the way she carried herself.   
   
“Nate!” She beamed at him and air kissed him on both cheeks, something he wasn’t used to.  
   
“Hi, Andy”  
   
“Hi right back. You look fantastic! Boston must be treating you well.”  
   
He ran his hands through his hair, “I guess. I’ll tell you about it. And right back atcha. You look amazing.”  
   
“Thanks. But let’s get going. This food is fabulous and you’ll love it.”  
   
As they entered the restaurant, the host jumped to attention, “Andy!”  
   
As she air kissed him, she said, “Sebastian, it’s been too long. This is my friend Nate Domanici. Listen out for his name—he’s an up and comer in the food world. And a particular friend of mine and Miranda’s.”  
   
“In that case, Mr. Domanici, you have a table whenever you like.”  
   
Andy stepped on Nate’s foot with hers, and he said, “Thank you. Everyone likes to be remembered.”  
   
“Follow me. A friend of Andy’s is a memory you keep.”  
   
After they were seated, Nate said, “Seriously? This is how you get treated?”  
   
“Yep.”  
   
It took only those seconds and those words before a server approached, “Hi, Andy.”  
   
“Michael! This is my friend Nate. I’m the boss today since I’ve been here before. We’ll have the tasting menu and we’re not even going to choose the ingredients. Tell everyone in the kitchen that Nate’s a chef so they can go as crazy as they want. No allergies. Nate will eat anything but remind them fennel and star anise are no-go for me. We’ll have still and sparkling water with lime and two glasses of wine each. Sommelier’s choice which and when but closer to the front of the meal than the end. I’m working today.”  
   
“You got it.”  
   
“And could I doubt it?”  
   
Michael winked at her and departed.  
   
Nate stared at her, “Wow. So this is you now.”  
   
Andy took a deep breath. “Me now? What do you think you’re seeing?”  
   
“I guess my first impression is money. Influence.”  
   
“Then you’re not looking hard enough, Nate. I have money and power but they’re not me.”  
   
Nate shook his head and ran his hands through his hair again, a nervous gesture she’d once found endearing. “It’s just weird, Andy. We used to have to save to go to mid-range restaurants and make reservations way ahead of time and were treated like pretty much everyone else but this,” he waved his hand, “is sort of wild.”  
   
“I agree. But you know me. Do you think all this makes me— _me_ —feel all-powerful or does it maybe seem surreal to me? How would it feel to you?”  
   
“Surreal.”  
   
“Completely. Sure, I’ve got money now but I’m not so naïve that I imagine all of this bowing and scraping has anything to do with me. It’s all Miranda. So don’t sit there thinking I think I’m all that. I don’t.”  
   
“I know that. I’m sorry.”  
   
“Don’t be. I find it just as hard to believe as you do. That’s why I focus on Miranda and our kids and my work. I mean, you remember how it was. I barely got my job at _Runway_ and if Miranda hadn’t thrown me a bone, I might not be at the _Mirror_. I couldn’t beg my way into a news building when I got here and now I _am_ news. If I trip over my own feet in the street as you know I’m prone to do, there’s a huge chance I’ll end up on Page Six and if it’s at night they’ll say I’m drunk. If I focused on how many things have changed for me so quickly and bizarrely, I’d go nuts.”  
   
“Plus the fact the more graceful you try to be, the more you spaz. I do remember that.”  
   
Andy reached forward and play-slapped his hand, “I’ve gotten a little better. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’ve called this meeting before you get too busy dissecting what you’re eating.”  
   
Nate laughed, “Right? We should have gotten a hot dog on the street. I don’t even want to know what’s in those.”  
   
“Nah, you deserve more than a hot dog as a parting gift.”  
   
“Is that what this is?”  
   
“What else would it be? You can open the paper or Google me and find out how I’m doing. Lily keeps me up to date with stuff I’d want to know just because I care about you. I know you’re doing great in your job and you’ve made a lot of friends and you seem really happy. And you can tell me about all that while we eat. I want to know why, after all this time, you wanted to see me.”  
   
He looked into her face, which was strangely inscrutable, although her tone was not. “Are you mad? Because you sound a little mad.”  
   
She shrugged. “It’s been a long time but a little bit, sure. The way you left me was inexcusably hurtful and disrespectful. It’s good form to break up in person, Nate. If you’re too much of a pussy to do that, you call. If you’re even more cowardly than that, you write a note. And while it’s beyond tacky to break up by text or email, at least that’s communication. What you don’t do is leave money on a dresser, thereby suggesting that you’ve been using a woman for sex and that she means nothing to you. So yeah, I’m a little mad. But I don’t hate you and it _is_ nice to see you.”  
   
“Whoa. Don’t hold back. Tell me how you feel.”    
   
“I won’t and I will. I’m not the same woman you unilaterally dumped. I live with someone twice my age and I have children now. Believe me, when you live with Miranda and two little Mirandas, you grow up quickly and learn to stick up for yourself or they mow you over, backward and sideways.”  
   
He nodded. “It’s what you were saying. That’s why I wanted to see you. I want to apologize about the way I left things—and you. It _was_ inexcusable and when I did it—I did mean to hurt you because I was hurt but that doesn’t excuse it. I’ve thought about it a lot and it’s always made me feel like crap. I kept seeing you in the paper and every time, it made my stomach flop remembering what I did. And I’ve wanted to call hundreds of times but the more time went by, the more it seemed like it’d be crazy to just call and say, ‘Remember me? The asshole?’”  
   
“And yet here you are.”  
   
“Yeah. Here I am.” He looked down at the table and began to draw circles on the tablecloth with his finger. “You could have died, Andy.”  
  
“ _Ah_. Yes. I could have. Without Miranda, I probably would have.”  
   
“It scared the shit out of me, watching that video. You could have died and you wouldn’t know,” he looked up at her and his eyes were brimming with tears, “that I did love you. Of course I did. Some of the best times in my life I spent with you. I know you would have agreed we had to break up back then. I know that. I’m so sorry I didn’t give you the chance and for leaving the way I did and for hurting you.”  
   
She reached across the table, patted his hand and smiled at him. “I could repeat what you said and it would be just as true. I loved you dearly and I have wonderful memories of our time together. I’m very sorry for hurting you, too. I completely forgive you and I hope you forgive me.”  
   
“Sure thing.” He squeezed her hand then wiped his eyes even as Michael arrived with their first course.  
   
“Your gourgeres. I held off on your order as it looked like you needed a moment.”  
   
“See? Now that’s service.”  
   
“Enjoy and when you’re through with your meal, you can take a tour of the kitchen, if you’d like.”  
   
“You’ll never get him out of there.”  
   
“Perhaps we’ll put him to work,” Michael said over his shoulder as he departed.  
   
After a few ecstatic bites, Andy said, “And because you desperately want to ask but won’t? No, Miranda and I were not involved when I worked for her.”  
   
This made him grin, “Please. Maybe not sexually but you two were completely involved.”  
   
Andy’s nodded, “You have a point but this way’s more fun.”

* * *

After a very long and surprisingly easy and pleasant catching-up-with-each-other lunch, they finally left the restaurant. “Thanks, Andy. That was absolutely the best dining experience of my life.”  
   
“High praise indeed. I’m glad you enjoyed it, buddy.”  
   
He lowered his voice, “You don’t blow $350 on lunch all the time, do you?”  
   
She snorted, “ _Hell_ no. I usually bring a turkey and Swiss from home and eat it at my desk with a can of Diet Coke.”  
   
He smiled, “Some things never change.”  
   
She smiled sweetly, “And some things do.” She put a hand on his arm, “Listen, Roy will be here any minute. If you ever need anything, if we can help you, make a call, make an intro for you? Let Lily or Doug know and they’ll tell us. We’ll be happy to help.”  
   
“Lily or Doug, huh? I get it. Thanks…so I guess this goodbye is really goodbye?”  
   
“Yes, sweetie. It has to be.” She hugged him tightly, “I love you, Nate. Thanks so much for everything. Please take care of yourself.”  
   
He didn’t let her go, “I love you, Andy. Thank you. Please be happy.”  
   
When they pulled out of the hug, both saw tears in the other’s eyes even as they heard a car horn.  
   
“That’s my ride.” She held out her hand, “Goodbye, Nate.”  
   
He shook it. “Goodbye, Andy.”  
   
She smiled at him, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  
   
“Actually, yes.”  
   
She curtly nodded her agreement, walked to the car, turned, blew him a kiss and waved.  
   
Roy looked at her through the rearview as he pulled from the curb, “You okay?”  
   
She wiped her eyes and smiled at him, “Never better.” She took her phone from her purse and dialed.  
  
“Yes?”  
   
“Hi you.”  
  
“How was lunch?”  
   
“It was fine. Fine and final.”  
   
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Yep.”  
   
“But not feeling like talking about it.”  
   
“Later, when you’re not at work and I’m not on my way back to it.”  
   
“One question before I let you go?”  
   
“Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“Are you glad you went?”  
   
“Very. Goodbyes are sad but it helps to say them.”  
   
“Very well. I’ll see you at home. I love you.”  
   
“I love you more.”

* * *

It wasn’t long after this call that Nigel strode in, took a seat in front of Miranda’s desk but didn’t say a word.  
   
She decided she didn’t particularly like the smug look on his face. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment, Nigel.”  
   
“Fair enough. I wasn’t aware several members of your staff had executive orders to vacation in Vermont. Because I hadn’t heard about it before, somehow I gather this isn’t a _Runway_ retreat.”  
   
She chose not to rise to the bait, “I’m sure Emily told you it was a get-away celebration. Is there a problem with that? You don’t like Vermont?”  
   
What a not-answer, he thought as his mouth twitched, “I didn’t say that. I love Vermont for a number of reasons. Beautiful scenery, the leaves in fall, covered wooden bridges, gay marriage, maple syrup. Things like that spring to mind.”  
   
He watched with rapt interest as Miranda took a few seconds to decide what to say. It was vanishingly rare to see her visibly think over a decision about anything. Everything with her was always instantaneous.  
   
She gave him the slightest of nods. “Yes.”  
   
Because being caught out had cost her and he knew it, Nigel lowered his voice, “I’m ecstatic but I just wanted to say if you don’t put me in charge of the dresses, I will die. I would say I’d kill you but you _are_ my boss plus you’re a little too much like Rasputin for my taste and it would be far too much work.”  
   
“Putting aside the fact you’ve compared me to a mad Russian monk who was admittedly almost tiresomely impossible to kill, that will do, but you’re sworn to secrecy and we’ve already chosen our colors.”   
   
“Let’s hear them.”  
   
“Blue for me. Andrea’s request—for my eyes.”  
   
“Perfectly reasonable. A good color with your skin tone and hair, as well. What’d you choose for her?”  
   
“Any blush color that brings out the pink in her skin.”  
   
He said without quite thinking about it, “You realize you’ll be making a cake-topper with blue and pink that will make you the groom, don’t you?”  
   
She tapped her pen on her desk and gave him a basilisk glare until he shifted in his chair and said, “Excuse me, Miranda. That was impertinent.”  
   
“Yes, it was. However, I’ll let it go since we’re planning a happy occasion.” Her tone suggested to Nigel they were now planning the siege on Normandy but he knew he’d asked for it. Miranda could tolerate just so much jocose familiarity and he’d crossed the line.  
   
“I trust you’ll be able to find exactly the dress and color that won’t invoke the idea of my being the groom just as I trust you’ll find exactly the color that will make Andrea look like a blushing bride. But only so to speak. Andrea blushes quite beautifully in any number of situations but I’ll leave it to your imagination exactly which one I’m thinking of when I ask for that color.”  
   
“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. But after another second, his eyes widened, “ _Oh_. Then I think it best that I pick and you choose.”  
   
“Just so.”  
   
“Very well. If that’s all, I have work to do.”  
   
Even as he turned to leave, she called him back, “Nigel, come here.”  
   
He crossed back to the edge of her desk and she lowered her voice, “I didn’t like what you said but I’m not angry.” He could see she was, again, making a choice to say something. It took a few moments. “We’re two women. I’m marrying someone half my age. You were right. If we hit just one wrong note visually, the whole situation’s rife with possibilities for making me…”  
   
She looked around the room as if trying to find a way not to say what she needed to until she finally looked into his eyes, “seem foolish for believing it’s true.”  
   
It was the most vulnerable she’d ever been with him and he wanted to touch her but knew that would be the wrong thing. He lowered his voice, “Your love isn’t foolish; it’s true and you’ll be beautiful on your wedding day. We’re both so completely visually oriented that it can be a blessing and a curse. But this isn’t a photo spread, Miranda. It’s your life and you’ll be surrounded by people who love you and that includes me.”  
   
She semi-glared at him even as she replied, “Thank you.”  
   
“You’re welcome. Beside that, we couldn’t possibly hit a wrong note. We’re the editor-in-chief and chief creative director of _Runway_. Who could doubt us if they could even remotely afford us?”  
   
He could see by the slightest relaxation in her shoulders that _he’d_ hit exactly the right note.  
   
“Exactly.”  
   
“Congratulations, Miranda.”  
   
“Save that until after we choose the dresses. You’ll curse me until then.”  
  
“Yes. I promise. Now back to the color block.”  
   
She had next to no faith in the new junior editor she’d assigned it to. “Ah, yes. How is that going?”  
   
“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t seen it yet.” He gird his loins before continuing, “I’m sure you’ll want to re-shoot it.”  
   
“ _Now_? This late. Quite sure?”  
   
“Completely.”  
   
“Then I don’t want to see it. You do it.”  
   
“Look it over?”  
   
“Don’t be disingenuous. Re-shoot it.”  
   
His shoulders slumped as he thought, ‘ _Hello, vicious deadline nightmare_ ,’ but said with as much pleading as he dared put into his tone with her, “Miranda, really?”  
   
She waved a hand, “You know our print deadline and we’re up against it. I trust you so bring me a run-through and I’ll look it over. I can get you Meisel or Roversi even if they have other shoots. That’s all.”  
   
He nodded, hating the fact he’d been given two weeks of work to do in four days, but he was smiling as he left the office.

* * *

Andy, not surprisingly, made it home before Miranda.  
   
“Magdalena?”  
   
“Andy?”  
   
“Where are the girls?”  
   
“Upstairs plotting dark things. Or doing homework. How do we know?”  
   
“Right? Whatever this is smells fantastic.”  
   
“Brisket. It is spring, I know, but I made winter vegetables because it makes the dragon _loco_ with the starch.”  
   
“Good for you but just so you know? I had a huge lunch so I’m going to eat light.”  
   
“So it goes. My cooking goes unappreciated—it is nothing.”  
   
“It’s everything.”  
   
“Then tell me why we go to Vermont and the one we know of says it will be catered and no need for me to cook?”  
   
“Because it’s supposed to be a celebration and a vacation for all of us, including you.”  
   
“Hmphh. So you say.”  
  
Andy kissed Magdalena on the side of the head as the older lady scowled at her stove.  
   
“Change clothes, Andy, or there will be a calamity. These roast vegetables have extra butter and garlic because I am in bad humor. That one won’t let me cook for her wedding? It is an offense.”  
   
Andy’s eyes popped wide.  
   
“Ah ah ah. Don’t lie to me. Me?! Change clothes.”  
   
“We love you and want you at our wedding—not as a servant but as a friend. Is that bad?”  
   
“You are marrying a demon in human form and how often does this happen? To see such a thing? No. It is not bad.”

* * *

  
Andy dutifully went upstairs to change but as she passed Caroline’s door, she knocked because she could hear both girls talking.  
   
“Come in.”  
   
“Hi, guys.”  
   
“Whatever with the hi, Andy. You’re, like, so much more in the doghouse than Patricia right now.”  
   
Andy noted that the girls were talking more like teenagers every day before replying, “Thanks for the heads up, Caroline. But that’s because…?”  
   
“Vermont? We had to hear it from JC”  
   
“Hear what, Cassidy?”  
   
“We’re going to Vermont. All together. As in going to the chapel and we’re gonna get married all together?”  
   
Andy groaned. She’d tried to tell Miranda this would be the worst-kept secret ever and the woman had already texted her about Nigel. “Yeah, but we were going to tell you.”  
   
“When?”  
   
“Well now’s good, I guess.”  
   
“So spill.”  
   
“Fine. We’re getting married. We want it to be casual and just the family and a couple of friends. What’s wrong with that?”  
   
“Wow. Let’s think…not telling us, maybe?”  
   
“Geesh, you guys. We’re just getting the ball rolling and we’d have had to tell you anyway because I have a request I haven’t even told your mom about.”  
   
“Here we go,” Caroline said. Cassidy elbowed her, “What, Andy?”  
   
“Thanks, Cassidy and thanks for quelling that enthusiasm, Caroline. I was going to ask you both to be the people who stand by me during the ceremony.” Andy watched astonishment fill their eyes and she couldn’t tell if it was the good or bad kind so she backpedaled a little, “But only if you want to.”  
   
“Really?”  
   
“Really. You’re my family and I want you to be part of the ceremony. But like I said, only if you want.”  
   
Cassidy looked at Caroline to verify their response. The girl blinked at her sister and Cassidy turned to Andy, “It would be an honor.”  
   
“Great. Thanks, guys. It’ll really mean a lot to me…I’ll tell your mom. I know she’ll love it…and…I’m going to stop now because I can see I’m hitting your emotional gag reflex a little hard, Car.”  
   
Caroline smiled but didn’t deny it. “And you know where I got that from. You’d never say what you just said to me to mom.”  
   
“Too true. But you’re not your mother. Close enough to scare me sometimes but not quite. Older and taller have their advantages. See you at dinner.” 

Despite the amiable nature of their phone calls regarding Nate, Andy couldn’t believe that would be the end of the story with Miranda. When the woman came home and entered the kitchen, however, there were no signs of gathered or gathering storm clouds in her eyes. She was completely pleasant as she kissed Andy’s cheek. Not a fake pleasant—a real pleasant Andy found hard to take at face value.  
   
As Andy considered this, she thought as she often did, that it didn’t matter if Miranda were trying to conceal or project her feelings—the woman was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Andy would always tread lightly around Miranda’s moods, even the good ones. Miranda gave her a one-arm hug, kissed her cheek again, winked at her and turned to survey the dinner.    
   
“Winter vegetables and butter. I take it you’re feeling particularly nettlesome tonight, Magdalena.”  
   
The older woman snorted and lowered her brows as she put finishing touches on her brisket. “I would feed you nettles and smile as you choked the way you treat me.”  
   
Miranda looked to Andy, who simply said, “She knows.”  
   
“Oh good Lord, Magdalena, we wanted it to be a surprise.”  
   
“You, Miranda? A surprise? The world laughs. You are so ‘do this,’ ‘do that’ and you say terrible things always to the face. People like you? And there are not any _but_ you? You surprise, maybe, by speaking nicely. _That_ is the cannon to the face. But a real surprise? No. For that you need the...” she waved her hand vaguely before jabbing the air with her index finger, “ah! The subtlety. _That_ —you do not have.”  
   
Miranda’s face didn’t change but both of the other women saw she was amused, “Do you know how many subtle differences in shades of any color I can identify by name?”  
   
Magdalena almost smiled. “Do you know how many subtle poisons there are for food? I would laugh inside as I wept hot tears to the police. The CSI? They would never catch me.”  
   
“Andrea, shall we retire to my sitting area and leave her to the poisoning? I’m sure, for maximum enjoyment, it’s an undertaking best performed privately.”  
   
As Andy followed Miranda out of the kitchen, Magdalena shouted behind them, “Ten minutes or I throw it to Patricia—all but your plate, dragon! I love Patricia!”  
   
As they walked down the hall, Miranda took Andy’s hand, lowering her voice, “Exactly when did I lose control of that woman?”  
   
Andy did a double take and lowered her voice even more, “You’ve _never_ had any control over her, Miranda.”  
   
“Thank you, Andrea. You must know how much I relish hearing that.”  
   
“I do and you’re welcome.”  
   
“Get in here.”  
   
Miranda pulled Andy into her sitting room, closed the door, pulled her into her arms and kissed her quickly but soundly. “Hello, Andy.”  
   
Andy held her tight with one arm and ran the other hand through the woman’s white hair. “Hi, Miranda. You’re being awfully nice. Any particular reason?”  
   
“Do I need a reason to be nice to you?”  
   
Andy looked into Miranda’s eyes and saw nothing there but affection. She smiled but knew her voice didn’t sound quite right even as she replied, “Of course not, sweetheart.”  
   
Miranda smirked at the tone, “We can talk about Nate if you want to later, Andy. Although it’s truly a non-issue for me, I respect that it’s important to you.”  
   
Andy stiffened, “I didn’t say that. It’s not exactly _important_ , Miranda.”  
   
Miranda kissed her lips again and pulled away gently, “Nonsense. Of course it is. Not only the fact that you two met but the way you’re feeling your way through negotiating how I’ll react to it. You’re not particularly subtle either, Andy.”  
   
She took a seat and motioned for Andy to do the same. She then gazed at Andy with such tenderness that the younger woman felt a lump rise in her throat. Miranda’s voice was gentle. “I know you always watch me very, very carefully, Andrea. I also know to my regret it’s a fact you have to in order to navigate living with me. That said, I watch you watch me, too, and it’s often incredibly instructive. I can sometimes gauge how I’m feeling, because occasionally I really don’t know, by _your_ reaction to _me_. But sometimes when I know exactly how I feel, you really don’t and when that happens it’s amusing to watch your watching me. As it is right now. I’m not upset at all, darling. You can stand down.”  
   
Andy just stared at the other woman. This was so Miranda. She could throw a huge sweet and sour thought-bomb in the room as easily as if she were throwing a firecracker. “Well, good. I guess. I’m glad.”  
   
“I am, too. Any other news from the day?”  
   
“Yep. The girls know.”  
   
“What? How?”  
   
“Juan Carlo. He knows Vermont and gay marriage go together. Knowing him, he Googled it. I’m sure Carlo didn’t spill the beans. But if JC knows it, Wanda knows. Actually, like I kind of, sort of tried to tell you, I’m pretty sure everybody knows. Think about it—because they are. To be honest, I felt stupid lying to people when I knew they knew what the deal was and especially when all of them were kind enough not to call me on it.”  
   
Miranda pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “I will ignore the ‘I told you so’ element in this but fine. Talk to Emily and you can begin to handle it as if it’s not a surprise. But it’s still casual and there will be no gifts and no talking to anyone about it or it _will_ hit the press. No negotiation on those points.”  
   
Andy flopped back into her chair with relief, “Oh thank God.”  
   
Miranda sniffed, “No need for theatrics. You know I’m nothing if not accommodating.” She ignored Andy’s mouth dropping open at that, “How’d the girls take it?”  
   
“Pissed we didn’t tell them but they’re okay.” She said as quickly as she could, “AndIaskedthemtostandbymeatthewedding.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Did you really not hear or do you require elucidation?”  
   
“The latter.”  
   
“I just thought it’d be nice to have them as part of the wedding party and it’s…yes, I know it’s sappy but I want them up there with us because I’m sort of ‘til death do us part’-ing with them, too.” She jerked her chin at Miranda as if daring the woman to dispute her.  
   
Miranda nodded. “You are and that’s not sappy. It’s perfect. Thank you, Andrea.”  
   
“My pleasure, Miranda.”

* * *

At that moment, Doug was talking to Lily on the phone, “Girl, just tell me this. Exactly how long do we have to pretend this isn’t a wedding thing?”  
   
“I know right? I say we give the girl two days, then we take her out for lunch or a drink and shake it out of her because I’ll be damned if I’ll play along if they’re going to be this lame.”  
   
“To be fair to Andy, I’m pretty sure this was Miranda’s idea.”  
   
“Please. I know it was. It’s like she’d gotten the bright idea she could sneak into some gay bar in the Village and no one would notice.”  
   
“And just for the record, she couldn’t.”  
   
“Exactly. Just like she can’t ask the family and friends of two engaged gay people to _Vermont_ , for God’s sake, and think that’s not neon.”  
   
“So. Two days.”  
   
“Two days.” 

* * *

At that moment, Serena was making dinner as Emily toiled over her computer and Andy’s suggestions.  
   
“English, you do know this secret will not be secret for long, do you not?”  
   
“Why? Did you tell someone?”  
   
Serena rolled her eyes at the stove, turned off the red peppers she’d finished sautéing and took a seat at the table. “Of course not. It is just that it is impossible for everyone not to know. Every one of the invited guests will know tomorrow so I believe you should work from that assumption.”  
   
“But how?”  
   
Serena pinched the bridge of her nose, “Why did you think we were going to Vermont when Miranda initially told you to plan the trip?”  
   
“I didn’t think about it. She wanted to go to Vermont. She wants Lagerfeld on the line. She wants to move everything up, back or sideways. I just do it. It’s not my job to think about it.”  
   
“Understood. But as a friend, and you must be if she asked you to stand for her, what would you think, if you were _only_ a friend and she told you she wanted you to go on vacation with her and her fiancée, their family and closest friends? Something completely unprecedented and in _Vermont_?”  
   
Emily considered that and her shoulders slumped as she sighed, “Bloody hell. Everyone’s going to know.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“Miranda will be incandescent.”  
   
“She will not be.”  
   
“How do you know?”  
   
“Although she was a fool to attempt this, she’s not such a fool she can’t change her plans. Of course she will never admit to the former.”  
   
“Serena, don’t say that. Miranda’s not a fool. It’s a very big step and, although it’s a rarity, she’s probably just nervous.”  
   
Although she wanted to, Serena didn’t smile at Emily’s leaping to the defense of her one true girl-crush. “I’m sure she is, Emily. Now, let me make you more nervous. You must give me your full attention because I need to tell you something very important.”  
   
Serena’s face was so serious that Emily’s heart jumped a little in her chest. “What? Is something wrong?”  
   
“Not at all. I know that you have too much to do every day of your life and will have even more now with the planning of this event. I want to take some pressure off of you for the next few months.”  
   
Emily tilted her head quizzically, “How?”  
   
Serena tapped Emily’s hand and Emily took it. “We often talk about possibilities, Emily, but I want to give you a certainty. When this event is over, and at a time that I’ll choose, I will ask you to marry me.”  
   
Emily’s eyes widened, her face flushed and it took her a few seconds to say, “You will?”  
   
“Yes. So put that responsibility out of your mind. You don’t have to ask me. I will do the planning and the asking. I hope that’s a relief for you.”  
   
Emily exhaled audibly, “You can’t know.”  
   
“I would wager I do know. What I don’t know, however, is what your answer will be and I would prefer not to wait.”  
   
“You mean you want me to answer now?”  
   
“No. I haven’t asked you anything. But had I asked hypothetically?  
   
“Oh. I see. Right. Yes. Of course yes.  
   
“Very well. You’re not engaged yet but you will be. Does that not feel better?”  
   
“Tremendously.”  
   
Serena leaned forward and kissed her, “Get back to work. You have fifteen minutes before dinner.”

* * *

After Juan Carlo had apprised Wanda of the significance of Vermont for a family and friends’ vacation, the woman had hastened to explain this to Carlo. Her husband had looked so sheepish that Wanda had the story out of him in two minutes. After a brief dressing down about spouses keeping secrets from each other, they decided to keep the secret that they knew the secret from everyone else.

* * *

Although they’d all politely confirmed their presence with Andy, after she’d rung off, Sam Sachs had laughed out loud. Even Richard and especially Audrey couldn’t ignore how bizarre an invitation this would have been if it had not been so obviously what it was.

* * *

John had rolled his eyes when Andy had called him. When he’d told Cecelia, she’d just chuckled, “God bless her, John, but what a loon. And I’m certainly not talking about Andy because I know this was Miranda’s idea. I’m so glad she’s your ex-wife and not mine.”  
   
John paused in thought before replying, “If she were your ex-wife, too, I think we’d almost be lesbians.”  
   
“See? It _is_ catching. Confirm with Andy and pretend you don’t know anything.” 

* * *

Roy laughed the hardest after the call, in fact so hard that Mary pounded his back until he recovered enough to explain what was funny. “You should have heard her voice, Mary. Poor Andy having to lie to me like that. She’s the worst liar you’ve ever heard and to top it off she’s not a fool. She’s lying to her driver and she knows it’s like lying to your butler. It can’t be done. I’ll have to be taking her and Emily to God knows what cake things and flower things and whatever you do with weddings.”  
   
“Miranda’s idea, I take it?”  
   
“Oh, I’m sure. I could take Miranda to Brides R Us five times and she’d still think she was getting one over on me.”  
   
Mary smiled both fondly and a little ruefully as she thought of the girl, “Poor Andy.”  
   
Roy shook his head, “No, no. Don’t say so. I’d never say that—in fact…” He stopped, smacked his forehead with one hand and took Mary’s hand with the other, “Isn’t it odd the people Miranda spends the most time with professionally and most abuses, Emily and me, always leap to her defense?”  
   
Mary nodded, bumped his shoulder with hers and he grinned although his voice was wistful, “You must understand and I know I can tell you because you’re a vault. There’s something very endearingly fragile about Miranda, Mary. Almost no one ever sees it. But once you see it, you want to protect it. And once you see it, you can never un-see it. So you put up with things like idiotic secret weddings and thinking a driver can magically move a traffic jam with his mind—they’re all just par for the course. Andy knows that. She knows exactly what she’s signing up for far better than John and Stephen ever did. That’s because she worked for her. If you can work for her and still love her…that’s saying something.”  
   
Mary knew he was talking as much about himself and Emily as Andy but she only said, “It says Miranda’s a very lucky woman.”  
   
“Yes. That I _would_ say.”

* * *

Miranda and Andy passed a very agreeable dinner and evening with their family without knowing that their ears should have been burning off of their heads.

* * *

When Andy emerged from the bathroom after preparing for bed, Miranda was reading in bed and only glanced long enough to see that Andy was wearing plaid sleeping shorts and a Northwestern t-shirt.  
  
She turned back to her book as she said, “I’ve told you time and time again, if you want to wear lust-killer pajamas, you’re going to have to work much harder than that.”  
  
Andy pulled back the covers and got into bed, “You just like thinking you’re sleeping with a coed.”  
  
“A coed grown slightly long in the tooth.”  
  
“Hey! I’m only 26.”  
  
“Thank you for reminding me of our age difference.”  
  
“You deserve it, smart-ass.”  
  
“Undoubtedly.” Miranda took off her reading glasses, put them and her book on her bedside table and turned to Andy. “I was only teasing you. I’m glad coeds didn’t look like you when I was in college because I wouldn’t have my children now.”  
  
“Better.”  
  
“Are you ready to talk?”   
  
“About?”  
  
“About…” Miranda ground out the words, “sous chef man.”  
  
“You said it! You didn’t call him fry cook boy!”  
  
“Yes, well, one of us has to be the adult.”  
  
“God help us if that’s you.” She ignored Miranda’s raised eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”  
  
“Nothing particular, I assure you. Tell me what you want to tell me about it. All I’d like to know so that I may discontinue stabbing him in my mind is whether he apologized to you in a manner that suggested he understood the gravity of his offense.”  
  
“He did.”  
  
Miranda waited but Andy didn’t continue so she said, “I gather that’s all you want to say about the matter. Very well. Next subject.”  
  
Andy huffed out a huge breath and her tone was slightly petulant. “That’s not all I want to say but I know you’ll think it’s dumb.”  
  
Miranda looked into Andy’s big brown eyes, her almost pouting face. Her lover could go from younger woman to much younger woman in seconds. She pushed a lock of Andy’s hair behind her ear.  
  
“I doubt that, Andrea. Your political and economic ideas? Yes, I consider them dumb. Your feelings? Never. I may not share your feelings or your manner of expressing them, but they couldn’t be more important to me. Let me take a wild guess and imagine that you felt a sense of closure after meeting with Nate.”  
  
Andy nodded but said mournfully, “I know you hate the word closure.”  
  
“I do not hate the word closure. I understand the concept but I’ve never felt it or the need for it. That’s a matter of my personality and I understand I’m the oddity, not everyone else. Tell me what meeting with him meant for you.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”  
  
“Andrea, you see the father of my children every week of your life—the person I created life with, a completely unique relationship I will never share with you. I loved him; I married him and made children with him. Although I make petty jealousy something of a fetish, I think I can handle the fact you were once in love with another person.”  
  
“Well, if you put it like that—“  
  
“I just did.”  
  
Andy narrowed her eyes at Miranda. “ _Fine_. It was good to see him and to hear an apology and to extend my apology because I wasn’t perfect, either. The latter was overdue, as well.”  
  
Miranda nodded as Andy looked down at the duvet, “Hearing an apology and hearing that the time we spent together meant something to him gave me…I guess…a sense of validation I needed.”  
  
“Validation of what?”  
  
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’d hate to think I’d spent years loving someone and thinking he loved me only to realize he hadn’t or not as much. I suppose I wanted to know that I hadn’t just been kidding myself or that I wasn’t a completely hopeless judge of people or of reality, even.”  
  
She looked up at Miranda and asked, “Does that make sense?”  
  
“After talking to Nate, do you feel more peaceful about your time together and about the past?”  
  
“Yes. Very much.”  
  
“Then it makes sense.”  
  
“But you don’t really think it does, do you?”  
  
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Andrea. I understand your motivation and if remembering your relationship with Nate gave you even a moment’s burden of sadness, I’m happy you’ve resolved those feelings or are on your way to doing so.”  
  
“Me, too. That’s closure, Miranda.”  
  
The corners of the woman’s mouth lifted slightly and there was amusement in her eyes, “So I’ve heard.”  
  
“What do you have against closure?”  
  
“Nothing. Literally. I just can’t imagine having a need for it in this lifetime.”  
  
Andy scrubbed her face with one hand, then turned more fully toward Miranda, “Can you explain that to me?”  
  
“What is there to explain? People are in my life or they’re not. Why on Earth would I care about them or my time with them if it were over? I suppose you’ll remember that my parents kicked me out when I was seventeen and that I only saw my father in the last months before he died? I believe I’ve told you it was nice to see him and talk to him?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“By that, I meant it was nice. Nice but wholly unnecessary. If he’d died without making some sort of verbal amends to me, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have been sorry he was dead because he was a human being and my father but not because I had anything particular to say to him or wanted to hear him say. Exactly the same goes for my mother. I don’t mind speaking to her occasionally but I have no interest or need for anything emotional from her.”  
  
She ran one hand through her hair and shrugged. “Of course, if she needed to say something to me, if _she_ needed closure, I’d listen and make the appropriate noises because it would be kind for me to do so. Plus, frankly, I don’t even care enough to gin up the energy to be unpleasant to her. I don’t suffer the ‘why didn’t mommy and daddy love me’ blues. I don’t care that they didn’t and I don’t care why. I came to terms with them the minute I walked out of our home. I come to terms with everyone—and even if they leave me or spurn me or hurt me first, they’re always _my_ terms. I don’t require validation because I really don’t care what people think of or want or expect from me. If people are gone—they’re non-entities. Unremembered and not just dead to me—gone as if they’d never existed.”  
  
“Jesus, Miranda.”  
  
“Yes, isn’t this romantic? But you did ask. It’s how I’ve lived my entire life but of course that changed with the children. That was a blow, believe me—to realize if anything ever happened to them or if they decided to leave me or wouldn’t talk to me, I would never come to terms with it. And then came you and the same thing applies. What kind of closure could I find faced with a world without you three in it? What kind would I even want? None. Ever. So you see, I’ll never need closure in my life.”   
  
Andy leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s forehead, “I think I understand but that all sounds sort of bleak, sweetie.”  
  
“You know what’s even more bleak, from my point of view?” A look of consternation filled Miranda’s eyes and she lightly bit her lower lip, something Andy had never seen her do.  
  
“What is it, sweetheart?”  
  
Miranda opened her mouth, then closed it, then tilted her head as if looking at something improbable. She finally took a deep breath, “I can’t come to terms with any of the people who are coming to our wedding. By that I mean I can’t make my own terms with them. I blame you.”  
  
Andy’s eyes widened but she saw, although Miranda was discomfited, she wasn’t angry.  
  
“Why am I to blame and for what?”  
  
“I wasn’t like this before I picked you up from the pound.”  
  
Andy smiled, “Like how?”  
  
“I didn’t care and now I do. Example. Roy. He likes his coffee with two creams and three sugars. I’ve talked to him at exhausting length about his ridiculous model trains while we’re sitting in traffic jams. I wonder if you know he uses the G scale train because it’s optimal for creating scenery around his railway. I do. He’s sent me pictures of his rail tableaux, Andrea. And I’ve looked at them!”  
  
This was said with such outrage that Andy had to laugh. “What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“May I remind you he’s my driver?”  
  
“He’s our friend.”  
  
“Immaterial. Because of you, I now have what seems like scores of people who can do whatever they will around me.”  
  
Andy took the woman’s hand. “I think, because I’m your fiancée and I may be able to get away with this with my scalp intact, I’ll take the liberty of editing that statement. You feel surrounded by people who could, if they wished, do what they want to you or with you and that’s leaving you unsettled.”  
  
“I just said that.”  
  
“No, no. You brought up Roy’s employee status, which was a skilful bit of subterfuge for your actual meaning, if you don’t know that and I bet you do. Because of that, what you just said connoted something of the nature of having servants suddenly being able to act unruly around you. What you meant is that you now have many people who can be themselves around you and against whom you have little of your usual emotional self-defense.”  
  
Miranda’s expression and tone were ice, “Again? I see rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated, Dr. Freud.”  
  
Although Andy immediately feared for her scalp, she kept her face carefully neutral. The glacier grew in front of her and she felt the flutter of that old-time _Runway_ thrill of horror. Still, she steeled herself to look unconcerned.  
  
After a few moments of standoff, Miranda’s posture abruptly relaxed, “This completely proves my point. Honestly, Andrea, if I can’t even intimidate you anymore, I’ve gone to the dogs.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes and gently smacked the woman’s arm. “You’re not supposed to intimidate me, you numbskull. Intimidation might have been part of your other marriages but not this one, sister. And you’re still plenty scary. I promise you still scare the hell out of everyone who’s going to our wedding, if that gives you any comfort.”  
  
“It does.”  
  
“Good. Just a word to the wisest of wise old owls? It might be salutary to remember that the reason people feel able to be themselves around you is because they love you and they can feel that you love them. They’re not going to hurt you, sweetie, and it’s not the worst thing in the world to love and be loved.”  
  
“Yes, yes. That’s all very nice but I did hear that ‘old’ owl part, Andrea.”  
  
“ _That’s_ your take-away from all this?”  
  
“Oh good Lord, of course not. Your comments have been noted and logged. Now turn out the light. I’m tired.”  
  
“Let me understand this. You have a hot coed in your bed and you want to go to sleep?”  
  
“Actually, the coed analogy is more apt than you think. I remember suffering through similarly deadly emotional conversations among the denizens of my dormitory in college. It was like listening to multiple Oprahs talking to each other without even a modicum of common sense or maturity and without the benefit of a 43-minute time limit.”  
  
Andy glared at her. “Did you just call me Oprah?” She turned the light off and announced to the darkness, “You are SO not getting any tonight.”  
  
“I assure you I will. I’ll intimidate you into it.”  
  
“Please. As if.”  
  
“We’ll role play. Call me Gayle.”  
  
Despite herself, Andy snickered, then said, “Shut up.”  
  
“You just took the words out of my mouth. Now kiss me, Andy. You know how difficult emotional conversations are for me.”  
  
There was a long silence. “You are so fucking manipulative it stuns me sometimes, Miranda.”  
  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  
  
“I’m going to kiss you but only because it will shut you up and keep you off the couch tonight.”  
  
“To quote a orator of undeniable, if trenchant, genius? ‘Please. As if’”  
  
As Andy kissed Miranda, the older woman pulled her on top of her and hugged her tightly. Andy broke the kiss, then kissed the woman’s cheek before whispering in Miranda’s ear, “God knows why but I do adore you, Miranda Priestly.”  
  
Miranda’s only answer was a sigh, “Andy.”

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**  
  
After leading Peter Sagong into Miranda’s office and bringing coffee for them both, Emily closed the door to the woman’s office behind her.  
  
“Thank you, Peter, for looking into this for me. It’s beyond the call of duty, I know.”  
  
“Not at all, Miranda. My pleasure.”  
  
“You look very handsome today. Hugo Boss suits you…and yes, that was a pun I didn’t intend. I’m sorry.”  
  
Peter grinned sheepishly as he blushed to the tips of his ears. “I know it’s a waste of time but I’m man enough to admit I change clothes many times before I decide on what to wear to meet with you.”  
  
“I’m flattered. It’s much appreciated and not a waste of time. A waste of time is trying to pry Birkenstocks from Andrea’s closet.”  
  
Peter pulled his chair closer and Miranda offered him a coaster for his coffee. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file.  
  
“As requested, I’ve done the research and created a Isabelle Malara file for your perusal.”  
  
Miranda took a sip of coffee and relaxed into her chair.  
  
“Naturally, Miranda, because Alicia’s case is pending, I have nothing regarding her and I couldn’t discuss what I’d heard about her possible defense even if I had heard, which I haven’t.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
He stared into her eyes, “I _can_ say that the most likely possibility for her defense would be unlikely to come to successful fruition.”  
  
“Hmmm. The most likely…may I offer my highly inexpert conjecture, Peter?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Alicia’s clearly not criminally insane so her lawyers will have to argue diminished capacity. I believe they will be unsuccessful because there had to be a way Alicia knew we were in that restaurant at that time. Given her demonstrated hacking skills, I can easily imagine her hacking into the restaurant’s reservation service. I’ve checked into it and it’s linked to an Internet service for high-end reservation booking. She also brought a gun with her and announced her intention so I can scarcely imagine any jury would believe it wasn’t a premeditated act.”  
  
He beamed at her and nodded vigorously even as he said, “That’s a very interesting theory, Miranda. I suppose we’ll see but I can tell you one thing, having met the young lady. No one enjoys incarceration but her temperament is ideally unsuited for it. I would be profoundly surprised if she doesn’t attack a fellow inmate before her trial. I’d be even more surprised if she’s not attacked herself.”  
  
“Oh, well. Isn’t that a pity. Next.”  
  
“Before I begin and although Andy told me that one of the cardinal rules of dealing with you is not to ask questions, I feel I must ask one.”  
  
Miranda drummed her fingers on the desk, “Andrea’s telling tales out of school, Peter. As a matter of fact, she peppers me with questions at home but yes; people question my judgement at _Runway_ at their peril. As you are here in a professional capacity completely divorced from fashion, you may ask me anything you like.”  
  
“Thank you. I suppose I’d like to know why this sudden interest in Isabelle Malara? You’ve had a long time to inquire into her if you’d been interested.”  
  
“Being shot once seems like a fluke; being shot twice seems like a habit. I wanted to know whether there was any similarity between the women involved or if there’s anything I need to look out for.”  
  
He nodded, “Makes sense. I can say to cut to the chase they could not be more different. What do you know about Isabelle?”  
  
“She worked for me as second assistant for four months. Terribly attractive and very well dressed. Clearly followed fashion and had true taste, which is far more rare than you’d imagine, even at _Runway_. Quite intelligent but a little too over-awed by me to be very good at her job. Of course, she might have gotten better but she felt the need to shoot me instead. She pled guilty without fanfare and received 12 years for attempted murder.”  
  
“Okay. Let me dispense with Alicia first, as a comparison. Alicia is not psychotic but she has raging borderline personality disorder and I use the word raging advisedly. There is very little that can be done for her therapeutically and, as I said, should she remain in prison, she will re-offend inside. Should she be released, she will re-offend. I need not remind you that Andy was her target, not you. You got in her way and that is how Alicia treats all people or circumstances that get in her way. She’s been escalating for some time but now that she’s reached life-threatening violence, I see no future for her but a violent and criminal one. I’ve spoken to two profilers about this and they’ve agreed.”        
  
He sighed as he looked at his file, “I don’t think you’ll like hearing what I found out about Isabelle so I’ll let you read it and form your own opinion.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You’ll see. Read the file and you’ll understand this is a tale of two very different prisoners.” He stood, “Thank you for the coffee, Miranda. It’s good to see you and give my regards to Andy.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Before he reached the door, he turned back to her and said, “There’s no excuse for what Isabelle did to you, Miranda. But the explanation is in the file. Call me if you have any questions.”  
  
“Thank you, Peter.”

* * *

 

**Three Weeks Later**

  
Miranda sat alone in a viciously ugly and barren room that was a little too much like the television version of an interrogation room for her taste, albeit without the long mirror on one side. As she decided the specific paint color on the walls would be forever branded in her mind as women’s prison grey, she felt something she was unaccustomed to—a true case of nervous anxiety. She’d given up wondering what quixotic impulse had landed her here in a maximum-security prison. Admittedly less quixotic to visit than to land without a choice, she amended in her mind.  
  
After normal channels of visitation had availed her nothing, there’d been a call to the governor who’d called the commissioner of corrections, who’d called the superintendent of the prison, who was none too happy with the end-run around his authority. She couldn’t blame him because it would have galled her as well. Although she acknowledged this to herself, she didn’t feel badly enough not to do it.  
  
Evidently, it was wildly irregular if not unheard of, to request an entirely private visit with an unrestrained prisoner in a maximum-security prison. Miranda sniffed at the idea. Given the glowing reports of Isabelle’s conduct while in prison, it was beyond the realm of possibility the girl would try to hurt her again. And were such an attempt made, the heels she’d verbally fought with the guard to keep on her feet would make formidable weapons—a point, literally, that hadn’t been lost on said guard.  
  
When the door opened, Miranda stood. Isabelle shuffled in led in by a female guard. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit and was shuffling because she was shackled, ankles and wrists. Miranda took one look from the woman to the shackles to the guard and said in a voice laced with scorn, “ _Really_?”  
  
“Superintendent’s orders, ma’am.”  
  
“I’m sure—just as I’m sure you have orders to take them off now that his rather small point has been made.”  
  
“Ms. Priestly?”  
  
“No, no. Miranda, Isabelle.”  
  
“Miranda, then. Your attitude can get me in trouble. You’ll leave at the end of this but I won’t.”  
  
Miranda was mortified to feel herself blushing. “Just so. Officer, I apologize. I’m unaccustomed to seeing young people I know shackled but I can appreciate it’s a necessary precaution for your safety. Please forgive my outburst.”  
  
The guard grinned as she unlocked Isabelle’s restraints. “No worries. You’re right. Isabelle here wouldn’t hurt a fly and everyone knows it, even the supe. I’ll be outside the door the entire time. If either of you need anything, just knock on the door or shout. I’m trusting you to play nice, Ms. Priestly. I know Isabelle will.”  
  
“I always play nicely.” Miranda replied, ignoring the look on Isabelle’s face at this pronouncement.  
  
The guard chuckled, “Uh, no ya don’t. I’ve seen that YouTube video. Play nice.”  
  
“Of course. I promise.”  
  
“I’ll send someone else for coffee for you two, if you’d like.”  
  
“It won’t be piping hot, Miranda.”  
  
This was so unexpected that Miranda laughed, a sound Isabelle had never heard. “God, I’m obnoxious, aren’t I? What would you like, Isabelle?”  
  
“I always get Diet Coke. I’ll warn you it’ll be in Styrofoam—they won’t let us have cans. We could split one.”  
  
“Diet Coke, officer?”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
When the guard left the room, the two looked each other over.  
  
“So…” Isabelle said.  
  
“Here we are,” Miranda finished. She looked the girl over. Very tall, very slender and despite the blue jumpsuit, exactly the same girl who’d worked for her. It made her eyes sting to see how exactly the same. Having learned what she had from Peter’s file, she could now identify what she’d only glanced at and disregarded before—the same look of defeat and crushing sadness framed in a truly beautiful face. The same light blue eyes, milky white skin, and fiery red hair that fell in tight ringlets to her shoulders.  
  
“I must say, Isabelle, you look remarkably undiminished by prison.”  
  
“It’s all in the clothing, as you know, Miranda. Prison blue’s good for my coloring.”  
  
The guard brought in two cups of Coke and left the room.  
  
Isabelle lifted her cup and held it forward, “Santé.”  
  
Miranda tapped the cup with her own, “Santé.”          
  
They took one sip of Coke, placed their cups on the table, then stared at each other for a few moments before Isabelle lifted her hands then lightly dropped them on her thighs. “You called this meeting. I’m sure you must have an agenda for it.” She lifted one eyebrow,  “So to speak.”  
  
Miranda was astonished to feel herself blushing yet again.

* * *

Isabelle saw this and felt the air being sucked out of her lungs and the room. She gripped the pant legs of her prison jumpsuit to stop their trembling.  
  
When she’d been told Miranda had requested a visit, she’d also been told she could refuse the request, which had scarcely seemed possible. The irony had not been lost on her that one had to go to prison to refuse Miranda Priestly. The last thing on Earth she’d wanted to do was to come face to face with Miranda again but if the meeting constituted further penance she needed to pay, she considered it fair. Beside that, it was hardly good manners to shoot someone and then not meet with her if she wanted. So she’d agreed and so here she was sitting across from the woman she thought about at least a few times every hour of every day of her waking life.

* * *

“You’re right, of course. I’ll start. I’ll admit, Isabelle, that after the shooting and your non-trial, I didn’t think about you much at all. Occasionally, perhaps, when I happened to notice my surgical scar—and believe me, I’m not saying that to make you feel badly. You shot me. I have scars. It’s merely factual for me, not emotional.”  
  
At this, Isabelle laughed without sound or mirth—just breath.  
  
Miranda paid no attention. “However, after the second time, I thought I should look into what made people keep shooting me. Beside the glaringly obvious you’re all too familiar with, of course.”  
  
Isabelle nodded. “Of course. What did you find, Miranda?”  
  
“Alicia’s not psychotic but she _is_ a lunatic.”  
  
“Yes, she is. I saw that video, too.”  
  
“Of course you did. I believe it’s garnered just over 76 million views so far. I’ve worked tirelessly at _Runway_ for over 25 years and it’s rather dispiriting to realize that all I ever really needed to do to get attention for the magazine was to be shot on camera.”  
  
Isabelle smiled at her Styrofoam cup, then looked up at the woman across from her, “That may be true but for even the most dedicated of editors, there has to be a limit to ‘give ‘em what they want,’ doesn’t there? And oh—speaking of being shot on camera, Miranda, I loved that picture of you and Serena and I saw the video of One Times Square. It was fantastic.”  
  
Miranda returned the smile because Isabelle suddenly looked and sounded animated. “I really wanted to put that cover on a wall in my cell but…considering the circumstances? I thought it might give my keepers pause.”  
  
“Ah.” Miranda touched her nose with her forefinger and pointed to Isabelle. “Good thinking. So sending you a subscription to _Runway_ would…”  
  
“Right. Undoubtedly push my parole hearing back a year or so. If you’re feeling vengeful, and I don’t see why you wouldn’t be, feel free.”  
  
Miranda had been uncertain what to expect from Isabelle and immediately realized meeting her again did not give her the certainty she’d thought it would. “But we digress.”  
  
“We do—and I know you hate that, Miranda.”  
  
The older woman gave the slightest of shrugs, “I say that but truthfully? It entirely depends on the situation…and the company. Alicia’s going to fight tooth and nail in court, you know, even though _she’s_ on camera, too, dead to rights.”  
  
“Look at her. Of course she is. Diminished capacity?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“I’d say she’ll definitely try it. She’ll lose.”  
  
“I agree. She will. But _you_ might not have, would you?”  
  
And just like that, the animation left Isabelle’s face and her voice. “That’s neither here nor there, Miranda. Or rather, there was my past and here I am. I pled guilty because I was guilty.”  
  
“There were mitig—“  
  
“I shot you, Miranda. I could have killed you. I could have left your children motherless. I’m guilty of the offense I was charged with.”  
  
“And yet your lawyers wanted you to plea diminished capacity, didn’t they?”  
  
“You clearly already know the answer to that. In fact, just looking into your eyes, I’m sure you already know why they suggested that. Do you have any questions to ask me you don’t know the answers to? If not, we’re wasting your time.”  
  
“My time is my own to waste and you have nothing _but_ time, do you?”  
  
Isabelle lightly bowed her head as if acknowledging a queen.  
  
“I do have questions.”  
  
“Very well. Shoot.”  
  
Miranda lowered her voice, “Don’t be impertinent, Isabelle.”  
  
The younger woman placed both hands on the table, interlaced her fingers and Miranda could see her knuckles whiten. “I apologize but this situation suddenly feels very confrontational. I know I deserve whatever you want to say to me, no matter how harsh and I want to take it without defending myself…but it’s difficult to hear how guilty I am when I already feel it more than anyone can imagine.”  
  
Miranda reached forward and Isabelle flinched as the woman touched her hands. “This is not a confrontation.”  
  
Isabelle sat transfixed. Miranda Priestly didn’t touch people. Except now, apparently. The woman tapped her joined hands gently and said, “Relax.”  
  
Isabelle placed her hands flat on the table but said, “You do know, don’t you, that you can’t really command people to relax?”  
  
“Yes, actually. I’ve noticed there is an inverse relationship between my commanding that someone relax and his or her visible level of anxiety.”  
  
“Then are you trying to elevate my anxiety?”  
  
“No—merely a habit. In fact, I demand that you don’t relax—let’s see if that works.”  
  
Isabelle nodded, then took a sip of Coke, “Ah, yes. That’s better already. What’s your first question?”  
  
“What did you originally want to do with your degree from Barnard? Before events made it impossible to go to Italy for your Masters.”  
  
Isabelle winced at this, “Events? Please tell me you didn’t have Emily draw up a file on me—or my _events_.”  
  
“Of course I didn’t. Emily would scarcely be the person to ask for unbiased information about _you_. I have a lovely friend who’s an FBI agent.”  
  
“Of course you do. As for your question and as you know, a double major in Medieval/Renaissance History and Art blows the doors of lucrative and sustained employment wide open. Of course, it’s far behind just learning how to, let’s say, plumb. Not that I’m knocking plumbing. It has an actual career path.”  
  
Miranda nodded her agreement.  
  
“If I’d pursued my PhD, I could have taught, but those jobs are few and far between. I had some vague ideas about a job in design. My father’s an industrial designer and my mother was an art teacher so it was within the realm of my understanding of possibility. I don’t suppose I really knew what I wanted but I was only 22 and I thought I had time. I find young people usually imagine time serves them, when human beings are always serving time. That’s usually figurative, obviously, but I went whole hog for the literal experience.”  
  
“Yes. A lesson for life. Even metaphors have tipping points.”  
  
The younger woman grinned at this as Miranda asked, “Were your parents supportive of your choice of majors?”  
  
“Of course they were. I was an adored only child and all they wanted was for me to be happy.”  
  
“Never say ‘of course,’ about parent and child, Isabelle. It implies a given that doesn’t exist. I’m an only child and my parents threw me out of the house when I was 17 because of my interest in fashion. You had loving parents and were evidently a lovable child. But not all parents are loving and not all children are lovable. The tragedy is when there’s a mismatch between the loving and unlovable or unloving and lovable. It’s best when like meets like, as in your case and in mine.”  
  
Isabelle had absolutely no response to that, so she asked, “What do Caroline and Cassidy want to do? Any signs yet? I know Cassidy likes science and Caroline likes artsy stuff.”  
  
Miranda felt a chill run through her body and her voice cooled, “And you’d know this about my children because…”  
  
Isabelle saw and heard the ice, “Because of nothing nefarious, I promise you. I did your children’s homework for four months, Miranda. It tells a lot about a person—what she chooses to keep for herself and what she fobs off on the help. Cassidy never asked me to do science and math; Caroline never asked me to do book reports or art projects.”  
  
“I see. Well. Right.”  
  
“Wow. That sounded just like Emily.”  
  
Miranda sighed, “I know it did. But fair’s fair—Emily’s beginning to sound like me. I apologize for jumping to conclusions about the children.”  
  
“Don’t. I shot you. You have a free ‘jump to conclusion’ card on me for life.”  
  
“They do their own now.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Homework. The girls do their own homework now.”  
  
“That’s…great actually.”  
  
“Yes. Andrea invoked the Hilton sisters and I saw her point. Believe it or not, they even have chores now and painfully mundane ones.”  
  
“That’s even better. Regime changes can be good for kids. Speaking of _La Belle Époque_? Congratulations on your engagement.”  
  
“Thank you. Is that within your wheelhouse, religiously, to be happy about two women marrying?”  
  
Off Isabelle’s quizzical expression, Miranda continued, “It says in my file that you’re a devout Episcopalian.”  
  
“I have been all my life but I don’t sit in devout judgement of others’ relationship with God or their worthiness to have one. And yes, I felt that way even before I discovered how profoundly unworthy I was to judge anyone at all.”  
  
Miranda smirked. “You know what I’ve always said? If _you_ won’t judge someone, bring him or her to me.”  
  
The younger woman smiled, “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me one iota.”  
  
“Would it surprise you to know that I was raised Catholic?”  
  
Isabelle looked her over. “Not in the least.”  
  
“It didn’t work out for me and not just for the reasons you might imagine. I have a Protestant world-view. Why limit yourself to talking to God’s first assistants when you can talk to God Himself?”  
  
“You’re a born editor, Miranda. To think it took Martin Luther Ninety-Five Theses just to say that.”  
  
Miranda sniffed, “Concision is a gift, Isabelle.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Since we agree on that subject, let me be more concise. I wanted you to know that I’ve contacted your uncle Frederico anonymously through a lawyer and they’ve arranged for your father to be moved to a better nursing facility. As you know, he’s in the end stages of his illness and my lawyer found his facility not up to the standards a family member would wish.”  
  
“We can’t afford a better place.”  
  
“I know that. I can.”  
  
Isabelle shook her head violently and pushed away from the table although she didn’t stand. “No! What are you trying to do to me?”  
  
“I’m not _trying_ to do anything. I’m giving your father better medical and nursing attention in the last months of his life.”  
  
“Why? Exactly why?”  
  
“Because I can and because he needs it and I was hoping it would give you some measure of peace about a situation that can’t be helped. You can’t be there but you can know he’s being well taken care of.”  
  
Isabelle shook her head again, “No, no, no, no. You can’t just walk in here and make me feel this way. I’ll take anything but not this.”  
  
“What’s ‘this’?”  
  
“You can make me feel like crap all day long but I can’t feel any guiltier, Miranda. It’s not possible. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to go begging somewhere else.”  
  
Miranda stared at her and when she spoke, her voice was cool again. “Very well. Let me get down to brass tacks if that’s how you wish to play this. You’re too self-deprecating by half. You’ve been a pillar of your community and church since you’ve been a child. You’ve been almost tiresomely perfect all of your life. Volunteer work, church work, wild academic over-achievement. You gave up a prestigious fellowship in Rome and, therefore, what promised to be a sure path to a very bright academic career, to come home to help your mother take care of your father, who was suffering from the late stages of early-onset Alzeheimer’s. At that point you started working for me. One month into your employ, your mother was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. Three months into your employ, it was determined the cancer had metastasised to her lymph nodes and liver and that her life expectancy was perhaps four to six months. Your father, even then, was forgetting both of you and had long since been a danger to himself. Have I got all of that correct?”  
  
Isabelle, whose head was lowered, nodded.  
  
“I thought so. I’m going to ask you three questions. You will answer them. You owe me answers. Do you understand that?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“Why were you carrying a gun in your bag?”  
  
Isabelle looked up at Miranda and there were unshed tears in her eyes. Miranda had never seen someone so utterly bereft.  
  
“My father never even spanked me once but I…was afraid of my father. I was afraid of him for my mother, too. He had a gun for home protection and I didn’t want it in the house.”  
  
“Quite right, too. When did you decide to shoot me?”  
  
“I don’t…I didn’t.”  
  
“What do you remember about the day you shot me?”  
  
Tears spilled down Isabelle’s cheeks but she made no motion to acknowledge them. Her voice was quiet and monotone, as if she were retrieving a shadowy history it was difficult to believe she was part of.  
  
“I think about that day all the time. I remember Dad being angry about breakfast for some reason. I know I helped him that morning because Mom had started throwing up every time she ate. He wouldn’t put food in and she couldn’t keep food down. I vaguely remember dressing and looking at my face in the mirror as I put on my make-up. Knowing the day would only get worse once I got to work. I knew after I’d failed at work, I’d go home and fail to help my mother enough with dad and fail to keep her alive. I remember knowing every new day would be worse than the last.”  
  
Isabelle wiped her cheeks and met Miranda’s eyes. “Very honestly, the next thing I remember is Emily and Nigel holding me down.” She smiled ruefully, “That and Emily punching me and my not knowing why. I guess you know the rest.”  
  
“I know my ‘rest.’ Not yours.”  
  
“What is there to say? I was horrified—completely stupefied. If there were an award for ‘Person Least Likely to Shoot Someone’ in high school, I would have won it hands down. I hate to be hyperbolic, Miranda, but imagine how you’d feel if you came to, so to speak, and people told you that you’d cut someone’s head off.”  
  
“Figuratively or literally?”  
  
Despite herself, Isabelle choked back a laugh and Miranda pursed her lips to keep from smiling.  
  
“I take your point and I believe you, Isabelle. Not to put too fine a point on it, you’d abandoned your personal dreams to assist your family during a horrifically stressful time. Faced with the tragedy of losing both parents to rapidly progressing and painful illness, you came to work in perhaps one of the most stressful positions it would be possible to find for yourself. Am I right?”  
  
Isabelle nodded.  
  
“You came to work for an employer who did not care that you were living a tragedy because she did not care about you in the slightest. In fact, she took no notice of your humanity whatsoever, this relentless and mercurial perfectionist who made you feel like an abject failure every moment of your working life. Do I read the situation correctly?”  
  
Isabelle shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know that I would put it that way.”  
  
“Oh, but I would. If your employer, who denigrated, belittled and humiliated you on a hourly basis, had been able to see beyond the nose on her own face, she would have seen what _I_ can see very clearly now.”  
  
Miranda ran one hand through her hair and Isabelle was fascinated not only by the strangeness of that nervous gesture but by the fact the hand was trembling.  
  
“You see…in a sense, I was operating in a diminished capacity as well. I didn’t know it at the time but I happen to agree with you—it’s no excuse. What I did, I did and I can’t change it. That said, I’ve come today…”  
  
Miranda placed her hands on the table and met Isabelle’s eyes, “I’ve come to apologize for those things I did and said that not only contributed to your anguish but to the actions that led to the place you find yourself now. Understand I’m not taking responsibility for your actions, only my own. I’m truly very sorry to see you here. I know I bear some responsibility for your state of mind when you assaulted me and I beg your forgiveness.”  
  
Isabelle was shocked speechless for a few moments. “You know that saying ‘you could knock me over with a feather?’”  
  
”Yes.”  
  
“I’m living it.”  
  
She reached across the table and placed a hand on Miranda’s. “I firmly believe you are the only wronged party in our equation. But I respect your feelings and I know that the need for grace is sufficiently mysterious that I never question it. I forgive you. Of course I do and without reservation.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
They sat and looked at each other for a few moments before Miranda said, “I should inform you that I’m going to be irritated if you feel like you don’t deserve forgiveness as well. Forgive me again for judging you but you seem like the type.”  
  
“What type is that?”  
  
“The type who would worry God to death praying over your sins. Theology question. Can God and does God offer forgiveness for sins when the sinner asks for it in a spirit of true contrition?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’ve asked God’s forgiveness thousands of times for shooting me, haven’t you? And be honest.”  
  
Isabelle paused before saying, “Yes.”  
  
“Another question. If you came to me at _Runway_ and asked what color I wanted a specific background to be and I said amethyst, would you come and ask me the same question the next day?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you’d made a decision and I wouldn’t question it.”  
  
“Correct. And having made my decision, would you expect me to change my mind day after day from Tyrian purple to Han purple to fuchsia to aubergine _ad nauseum_?  
  
“Never.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Again—because you’d made a decision.”  
  
“Correct again. According to your stated beliefs, since you’ve asked God to forgive you, He undoubtedly extended His grace to you the first time you did it. I would bet every penny I have, however, that you weary God every day of your life with the very same question. If you know better than doing that with me, why not with God? Do you honestly think I’m more decisive than God?”  
  
Isabelle tilted her head as she considered this and then her face was a mask of sheepishness, “Well… _sort of_?”  
  
Miranda huffed, “Oh, _honestly_. Ask me to forgive you right this minute.”  
  
This time, Isabelle did bark out a short laugh. “You can’t—you can’t _do_ that.”  
  
“I beg to differ.”  
  
Isabelle glared at her, the first unfriendly look she’d given Miranda.  
  
“You need to work on your intimidation skills, Isabelle, if that’s even what that look is supposed to connote.”  
  
Isabelle’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I mean I wouldn’t want to… _okay_. Here goes. I’m so very, very sorry that I hurt you. I know I can never make amends for what I did but I would give anything for it not to have happened. It’s not hard to say because I think of you every hour of the day and every time I’m grief-stricken. What’s hard is believing my guilt and sorrow could ever be enough.”  
  
“Just ask me.”  
  
“Could you please forgive me, Miranda?”  
  
“Yes. I can and am doing so now. Completely. That makes the slate clean between us, Isabelle. Don’t question this after I leave. It’s over and my decision is final. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good. One more theological question. Do you believe in the communion of saints?”  
  
“Of course I do.”  
  
“I do, too.” Miranda leaned forward and spoke very quietly. “This is the most important thing I have to tell you so please listen carefully.”  
  
“Okay,” the younger woman whispered.  
  
“I know you regret shooting me but, having sat with you only this short time, I’d imagine you’d feel a more crippling guilt that your mother died knowing you were in prison and that your father’s last lucid understanding of you included that sad fact.”  
  
Isabelle immediately began to cry but, again, it was silent.  
  
“If you _believe_ , Isabelle, your mother knows everything she needs to now about what happened then. I personally believe that she sees you and loves you and what sadness she feels for you isn’t condemnation but a desire for you to move past this. I’m a mother myself and I can’t imagine anything my children could do that would separate them from my love. Even I feel deep sadness seeing you here, much less your mother. She loved you and still loves you. Just as your father did and does. Put your guilt to rest for their sake. It’s the least you can do and the greatest gift you could give them.”  
  
Miranda sat silently for a few minutes as the woman cried, then said softly, “It’s time to wipe your tears now, Isabelle.”  
  
Isabelle scrubbed her face with both hands as Miranda reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two cards. She handed the first to Isabelle, “This is the name of your new lawyer. You’ll find it amazing how much harder people work for you when you pay them. She’ll be working on what can be done to get you a parole hearing sooner rather than later. She’s a very squeaky wheel and tremendously irritating. When the time comes, I’ll naturally speak on your behalf and don’t worry about employment and your living situation. We’ll handle all of that.”  
  
Miranda handed her the second card, “Martha Fonseca is my second assistant and this is her cell and a P.O. Box we’ve set up for your correspondence. If you have any questions or need anything, call or write her. Your uncle is visiting soon with more information about your father’s new facility. Is all of this understood?”  
  
“Yes, Miranda.”  
  
“Don’t do that ‘yes, Miranda’ thing. Andrea does that to irritate me. I’ll visit again soon but it’ll be after my wedding and through regular channels. I’d hate for the superintendent to take his irritation with me out on you.”  
  
She stood and extended her hand, “Thank you for meeting with me.”  
  
Isabelle shook it firmly but didn’t let go. She held it and covered it with her other hand, “Thank _you_ , Miranda. I know I’ve done nothing to deserve it, but thank you.”  
  
Miranda tilted her head as she looked at their linked hands and then up into Isabelle’s eyes. “I feel curiously better now than when I walked in.”  
  
Isabelle smiled at her, genuinely and radiantly, “I do, too.” She moved one hand to Miranda’s shoulder, “But please let’s not call it closure, okay? I couldn’t stand that word even before I was an inmate.”  
  
“ _Really_?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Very well. Closure it isn’t then.”  
  
“Closure it isn’t.”

* * *

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

Miranda’s voice was low and cool. “So. It’s come to this.”  
  
Andy glanced at Miranda, who was sitting in the bed beside her wearing light blue pajamas, studiously staring at but not reading her book. Andy typed on her cell phone as she answered, “What? My t-shirt and sweatpants?”  
  
“While I vaguely understand your outfit might be considered perfectly suitable nightwear or even business attire for some of the lesbians one might encounter in the wild, I’m actually referring to your using your phone in our bed.”  
  
Andy chuckled but continued to type, “Ouch, Miranda. Give our lesbian sisters a break.”  
  
“I will not. I have no siblings. I sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus. Who are you texting?”  
  
“You know exactly who I’m chatting with so stow that attitude. All of this is your fault.”  
  
Miranda placed her book on the bed and looked over her reading glasses at Andy, “I’m sure I couldn’t have heard what you just said correctly.”  
  
“Really? Somehow I’m sure you not only could but did.”  
  
“Andrea Sachs.”  
  
”Miranda Priestly.”  
  
“Put that phone down.”  
  
“Sure. Just a sec.” Andy typed furiously for another thirty seconds, waited a few moments, read the reply, snorted and slapped the phone down on the bed. Turning toward Miranda, she saw that the eerily placid facial expression, which often belied a thunderous mood, instead belied amusement.  Which made her smile. “There, sweetheart. I’m completely yours.”  
  
Miranda raised an eyebrow, “In that outfit? Hardly.”  
  
“Fine. Whose bright idea was it to go without sex for a month before getting married?”  
  
“Mine.”  
  
“Right. And who decided to make Emily run the best man-wedding planner gauntlet through me?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Right again.” Andy gestured at her clothing, “Hence the lustkiller PJs.”  She held up her phone. “Hence the heated and epic chat relationship that will probably end in homicide.”  
  
“Hyperbole.”  
  
“Quoted for truth,” Andy said as she picked up the phone, scrolled, and handed it to Miranda. “Our lovefest from this morning. Read what thou hast wrought, Athena.”   
  
**Emily Charlton: I can’t believe I even have to type this question**  
**Andy Sachs: We could actually talk, you know. It’s a new feature phones have**  
**Emily Charlton: I prefer to keep a measure of plausible deniability about my interaction with you**  
**Andy Sachs: Question?**  
**Emily Charlton: About the hen do**  
**Andy Sachs: Got it. It’s spelled Hindu**  
**Emily Charlton: …**  
**Andy Sachs: Sorry. I know. Hen party, stag party**  
**Andy Sachs: We call them bachelor and bachelorette parties**  
**Emily Charlton: Yes. Thank you, miss. Can you see my problem?**  
**Andy Sachs: Probably. Wondering who the hen is?**  
**Emily Charlton: No. Anyone can see you’re the hen. But finishing the implied syllogism isn’t exactly on even if true, is it?**  
**Andy Sachs: You ever notice you become excessively formal when you’re nervous about M? Because I do. Also, your intelligence is showing and that’s sort of hot, Em**  
**Emily Charlton: Just when I thought I couldn’t hate you more**  
**Andy Sachs: Please. You don’t hate me**  
**Emily Charlton: Au contraire, mon ennemi. As in employ a food taster now**  
**Andy Sachs: Nice. Re question. One party. We have too few guests to have two**  
**Emily Charlton: Will she go for it?**  
**Andy Sachs: Sure. I’m the bride. What I say goes**  
**Emily Charlton: Is that implying Miranda’s the groom?**  
**Andy Sachs: So? You called her a stag**  
**Emily Charlton: Are you ten years old?**  
**Andy Sachs: No. That would make Miranda twenty**  
**Emily Charlton: …**  
**Emily Charlton: I believe the word I’m searching for is wow**  
**Andy Sachs: Indeed. One party, Emily. That’s all**  
**Emily Charlton: Oh no. I’m suddenly enjoying this**  
**Andy Sachs: Shut up**  
**Emily Charlton: And they pay you to write. Any suggestions for the one party?**  
**Andy Sachs: Knock yourself out**  
**Emily Charlton: With three children in the room?**  
**Andy Sachs: Good catch. Cancel the strippers**  
**Emily Charlton: …**  
**Andy Sachs: Tough room. Let’s just have a low-key thing that’s only a party in the sense it has a gathering of people with music, food and drink**  
**Emily Charlton: If you say so but you’re taking the bullet if she’s bored rigid. Oh wait. Who am I talking to? Of course you’re not**  
**Andy Sachs: And speaking of wow**  
**Andy Sachs: Hard to believe you went there**  
**Emily Charlton: I shouldn’t have. That was completely uncalled for**  
**Andy Sachs: Uh huh**  
**Emily Charlton: I apologize**  
**Andy Sachs: Good. You’re forgiven**  
**Emily Charlton: You’re too easy**  
**Andy Sachs: It’s called being an adult**  
**Emily Charlton: Debatable**  
**Andy Sachs: When speaking with you? Granted. That all?**  
**Emily Charlton: For now**  
**Andy Sachs: Later then**  
**Emily Charlton: Yes. Thank you Andy**  
**Andy Sachs: Welcome**  
**Emily Charlton: I’d been shuddering to think what I’d do if I had to divide guests into the two parties**  
**Andy Sachs: IKR? Not to mention guessing what Miranda would find appropriate for her boy’s night out, or in as the case may be**  
**Andy Sachs: You shouldn’t have worried. I’d never do that to you**  
**Emily Charlton: I’d do it to you, laughing**  
**Andy Sachs: Oh, I know that. Later. XO, Em**  
**Emily Charlton: Stop that**  
**Andy Sachs: Spoil sport. Oh wait. Question. Who’s the hen when you two get married?**  
**Emily Charlton: Who?**  
**Andy Sachs: Picture my big doe eyes rolling. You and Brazil**  
**Emily Charlton: We’re not engaged**  
**Andy Sachs: Matter of time. Indulge me**  
**Emily Charlton: Why create a precedent?**  
**Andy Sachs: WTFE. You’re the hen**  
**Emily Charlton: F you**  
**Andy Sachs: Thanks but no. You won’t even X me so you don’t get to F me. That and I AM engaged**  
**Emily Charlton: That neatly explains the immense sulphurous cannon ball with Andy’s Wedding engraved and chained around one ankle**  
**Andy Sachs: Aw, Em. I know it’s a pain in the ass but at least we’re in it together**  
**Emily Charlton: You say these things to torment me, don’t you?**  
**Andy Sachs: Uh huh**  
**Emily Charlton: Well done. Remember I can’t miss you if you won’t go away**  
**Andy Sachs: Watch it. That almost sounded friendly**  
**Emily Charlton: (crickets)**  
**Andy Sachs: Later, tomater**  
**Emily Charlton: You do know that doesn’t rhyme in my accent? It doesn’t even rhyme in yours**  
**Andy Sachs: It’s a near rhyme**  
**Emily Charlton: It’s not a near rhyme if you have to add an R**  
**Andy Sachs: I used poetic license for that part**  
**Emily Charlton: Three words: Food taster. Goodbye**  
**Andy Sachs: After a while, crocodile**  
**Emily Charlton: THAT’S a near rhyme**  
**Andy Sachs: Thank you miss**  
**Emily Charlton: Goodbye. Stop typing**  
**Andy Sachs: You stop answering me**  
**Emily Charlton: OMG**  
**Andy Sachs: hahahaha…last word!**  
**Emily Charlton: (s)!**  
**Andy Sachs: Bitch**  
**Emily Charlton: Miss Bitch to you**  
  
Miranda handed Andy’s phone back to her, “It reads like tweens navigating a crush they don’t know they have. But exactly.”  
  
“I know it does. I thought we were bad at Runway but now we’ve completely devolved.”Andy leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s cheek, “Just remember something. Emily would walk through a field of lava to make you happy and that means she’s having to make me happy. That’s not the most enviable position to be in for her so don’t even entertain the thought of doing anything mean to her for being a bitch with me.”  
  
“You wound me by even entertaining the thought I would.”  
  
Andy raised an eyebrow and Miranda tilted her head to consider the effect, “You’re getting better at that, darling.”  
  
“I’m nowhere near the master.”  
  
“You could be. Come here.” Miranda beckoned with a lifted arm, Andy scooted over, positioned herself and they both relaxed into the full body hug, “There. Isn’t that better?”  
  
“It is,” Andy sighed.  
  
Miranda threaded her fingers through the girl’s dark hair as she asked, “Is this wedding planning becoming too stressful? Can I help with anything?”  
  
“To be honest, yes it’s too stressful. On one hand, it’s not remotely the hell of Paris Fashion Week but on the other, it _is_ our wedding and a one-time deal I really want to be nice for us and I…guess to answer your other question, thanks but no thanks. Getting you into the mix would make this feel even more like I’m the second assistant in Dante’s Inferno than I already do.”  
  
“How charmingly you remember your employment with me. Nevertheless, one hopes we can forgo the excitement of Emily’s being hit by a car or your doing a Paris phone dump in Vermont.”  
  
“God forbid the former and as far as the latter is concerned, Emily would hunt me down and murder me if I didn’t show.”  
  
Miranda kissed the top of Andy’s head. “Should I be worried that you’re more concerned about Emily than rushing to shore up my insecurity about whether you’ll show for the wedding?”  
  
“You have to be kidding me. Please.” Andy pulled gently away from Miranda just enough to prop her head on her hand and look into the woman’s eyes. “I couldn’t just toss my phone and walk. That inn’s so damned secluded I’d have to drive out and it’s not like you guys wouldn’t notice I was gone in time to stop me. Anyway, it’s too late for planning escape contingencies because Em and I are way past the ceremony part. We’re in the middle of catering and if I’m going through the water torture of planning the reception food with the most pernickety person I’ve ever known excepting you, you’d better believe nothing on Earth’s keeping me from eating it.”  
  
Miranda looked at Andy for a long moment, “To paraphrase the children—if that was reassurance, you’re doing it wrong.”  
  
Andy exhaled loudly before replying. “I know I am, sweetie. Ignore me. I really can’t wait to marry you but planning it’s getting on my last nerve. And there’s nothing you can do for my nerves,” she said as she patted the duvet covering Miranda’s stomach, “now that you’ve taken sex off the menu.”  
  
“Well, that was certainly a segue. Is that in actuality what’s making you so surly tonight—our sexual abstinence?”  
  
“In actuality, Miranda, I’m not being surly at all. Are you sure you’re not feeling surly for some reason you’re projecting onto me?”  
  
Miranda pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Andy smiled, sat up and crossed her legs facing the woman. “I’ll pretend I believe you. That said, I don’t mind going on record—thirty days is a ridiculous amount of time to go without when it’s fairly capriciously symbolic.”  
  
“You could have said no.”  
  
“No I couldn’t. It seemed important to you when you suggested it.”  
  
“It was.”  
  
“That past tense has been noted.”  
  
“There’s no need for impertinence.”  
  
“Oh, I need it alright. Impertinence is my chain mail with you, lady.”  
  
Miranda’s lips twitched but she didn’t smile, “I know you’re using that in the armoury sense of the word, but I’m taking it in the annoyingly excessive epistolary sense.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Andy said, thinking that Miranda looked annoyingly and excessively smug. But she also looked so pretty and comfortable and peaceful in the midst of their faux-bickering that Andy’s stomach suddenly flipped. She leaned forward and cupped the woman’s cheek. “I adore you.”  
  
“It’s mutual.”  
  
Andy grinned, “Then we can just adore each other really hard for the next eleven days. Think that’ll suffice?”  
  
“No, but we’ll live. I didn’t have sex with John for three months after the twins were born. It can be done.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes, “You know what? Because I love John, I won’t even go where you would go if I mentioned sex with my most significant ex-partner in our bed. But back to your point. You had a Caesarean—was it that awful?”  
  
“Not really. I held out for months just for the principle of the thing.” She almost smiled, “I’m sure you’ll find this difficult to believe but at that point in my life I was not only petty enough but vain enough to resent John for the scar.”  
  
Andy’s nod was almost imperceptible. The amusement in her eyes wasn’t.   
  
Miranda sniffed, “Yes. Had I known it would be the first and best of my surgical scars, I would have slept with him in two weeks.”  
  
Andy smiled. “See? Are you seeing this? You’ve just mentioned sex you actually had with a man twice in our bed in the last ten minutes and I haven’t increased my _froideur_ one iota.” She sniffed. “Just showing you how it’s done.”  
  
Miranda’s lips twitched. “Your far greater maturity is noted.”  
  
Andy scowled at her but then lowered her head and her voice, “I know we never talk about your scars and I promise I’m not really trying to talk about them now but you brought it up so I’ll just say I understand. Obviously, I never saw your body without your first two scars, so they’re sort of just you to me. But I do resent the hell out of the one on your arm—because…well, you know why. There’s a lot of why for that one.”  
  
Miranda took Andy’s hand and squeezed it softly, her voice soft and warm, “Look at me.” Andy raised her head. “Don’t, Andrea. It’s done and it’s not worth even thinking about, let alone wasting the time it takes to label your feelings of anger and guilt as resentment. And don’t cavil with me about my saying that because we both know it’s true.”  
  
Andy shifted uncomfortably, “I’m sorry I brought it up.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
Miranda lifted an eyebrow and Andy could see from the expression on her face that a swift change in attitude was in order.  
  
“Right. Sorry. Wrong tone. You were saying?”  
  
“Thank you. If you truly need to talk about this again, I’ll always be willing to accommodate you but if not, let this be an end to discussing my scars. I have three physical scars. The first was planned and a visually nominal indication of the least nominal fact of my life—my children. The second is, visually, an untidy reminder that the way I am in the world can reap painful consequences in other people’s lives and in my own. I shouldn’t have been surprised by it but I was. I was profoundly shocked. The third was by far the most painful and it’s enormous and jagged and ugly. It didn’t surprise me in the least that protecting someone I love would hurt but I feel proud and, indeed, grateful, that I was who I’d always hoped I’d be if tested with my life.”  
  
Andy ran one hand over Miranda’s arm and bit her lower lip before saying, “I wasn’t.”  
  
“I couldn’t let you be, Andrea. I’m an editor. I made the choice. You save my life every day. I’ve only saved yours once.”

* * *

 **Eleven Days Later**  
  
Honestly, Emily thought, as she frowned out at the dawn, if she’d wanted bucolic settings and flippant weather, she’d have stayed in England. Snow in April. She’d never longed for New York more than after spending one night in an admittedly fabulous room in a fabulous inn whose sole occupants were the wedding party, if you counted every person attending the wedding as members of the party, which she’d had to since she’d made the bloody reservations for them.  
  
Unable to ignore Emily’s loud sighing any longer, Serena propped herself up on one elbow in their bed and watched Emily watching the snow. They were trapped until at least 8AM. Upon their arrival the night before and as a measure meant to suggest the trip was a holiday of sorts, Miranda had suggested that it would be fine if anyone wanted to sleep in. Emily had forced herself not to roll her eyes because this was, naturally, akin to issuing a papal bull stating the necessity of everyone’s sleeping in. Andy had pulled Serena aside to talk about this:  
  
“Just stay in your room and order room service tomorrow morning. Miranda thinks it’s a good idea now but when she’s looking out the window and pacing for two hours before she can come down and pretend she’s slept in, she’ll realize differently.”  
  
As employer, so employee.  
  
“What are you thinking, English?”  
  
Emily looked back at Serena, who looked predictably perfect despite the hour, “I was thinking I could have just stayed in England if I wanted this and that breakfast can’t come fast enough.”  
  
“Ah. Yes. However, if anything could verify you’re not in England, it would be scrambled egg whites with one piece of dry wheat toast.”   
  
“It’s the perfect breakfast.”  
  
“It perfectly struggles not to disappear on the plate and since this event is casual and you don’t have to fit into anything cruel today, your breakfast begs a question I already know the answer to. You’re eating paper because you imagine that Andy and Miranda will be but I can assure you there’s no need for solidarity. Apparently they find final fittings to be an aperitif—Nigel and I thought they both ate like wolves after.”  
  
Emily shook her head, “Wait. Are you saying they saw each other’s dresses?”  
  
“No no. They never. Two different days of course but if you’d seen how ravenous they—“  
  
“Hold please.”  
  
Serena stopped speaking immediately because she realized she’d stepped right on a sore point. Emily hadn’t seen anything at all except, apparently, the penny she’d just let drop. Emily’s voice cooled as she narrowed her eyes, “I can _not_ believe this. You know what they’re wearing, don’t you?”  
  
Serena hesitated and offered a tentative, “No?”  
  
“Really.” Emily crossed her arms and quietly tapped one foot on the floor. “Is that your final answer?”  
  
“Alright. I do know. Acra and Herrera.”  
  
“Andy in Acra.”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
Serena watched Emily toy with the idea of holding onto resentment as a side item for breakfast with her egg whites and toast. She knew Emily imagined herself inscrutable but in reality her emotions were as obvious as sky-writing.   
  
Emily worked through her emotions and came out with, “They’ll be perfect?”  
  
Serena smiled what Emily considered the woman’s very laziest and sexiest smile, “Miranda Priestly. And Nigel dressing Andy for Miranda Priestly. What do you think?”  
  
“I think I hate you for seeing what they’re wearing when I haven’t.”  
  
“Hate me if you like to but it was Miranda. She would know you would try to accent yourself somehow for her and Miranda has asked you to stand as yourself. She does not want a token person in a dress coordinated for her as you might think she might want in a _Runway_ way. This is a personal honor she extends to you, Emily. So she does not ask or show you anything. She doesn’t want you to look or be anything except yourself or anywhere except standing beside her today. She’s asked you the privilege of that. Grow with her. She is learning, English. You need to, as well.”  
  
Emily looked from Serena to the snow falling, and back again. “If you’re going to be continually reasonable and right, Serena, it’s going to be a very long, long-weekend.”  
  
Serena smiled, “Get back in bed with me, little one. Breakfast soon. I ordered a true English breakfast twice for me. You get half. Calories do not count in Vermont. I read this on the Internet.”  
  
Emily smiled and pounced back into the bed.

* * *

“What’s up?” Cassidy mumbled as she opened her eyes and saw her sister changing clothes and moving through their darkened room.  
  
“Sorry. Me. Not you. Go back to sleep—it’s snowing. I’m taking pictures.”  
  
“Did you finish your speech?”  
  
“Our speech—and yeah. All done.”  
  
“It’s yours if you’re giving it, doofus.”  
  
“Me. You. Same difference, right?”  
  
Cassidy smiled a very sad, gentle smile. “What the hell are you doing?”  
  
“Language, Cassidy, and looking for something,” Caroline whispered as she scrounged through her camera bag and finally held up two items Cassidy couldn’t really see. “Ta da!”  
  
“Do I need to know what the ta da is?”  
  
“Nope—go back to sleep.”  
  
“Like that’s happening. I’ll read your speech when you get back.”  
  
“You don’t have to—I made it nice.”  
  
“Fine but you do know Maggie’s going to catch you sneaking out, don’t you?”  
  
“It’s not exactly sneaking out if I’m just walking out, right? And it’s no biggie. I’m shooting establishing shots for the wedding.”  
  
Cassidy sighed. They’d had this discussion before. “Mom would totally let you shoot the whole thing but you’re in the wedding party. You can’t take the pictures and not be _in_ the pictures.”  
  
“A camera’s part of my outfit almost every day. So what? I’ll smile for the camera with a camera around my neck.”  
  
Cassidy exhaled sharply. “What was the ta da?”  
  
“Another lens and a thingy you don’t need to know the name of that’ll keep the snow off it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Caroline felt the weight in the air. “Cassidy—I’m just taking pictures.”  
  
“You’re really nervous.”  
  
“No I’m not.”  
  
“Yes you are. You go behind your camera when you’re nervous.”  
  
Caroline packed her gear and said, “That would mean I’m almost always nervous.”  
  
“Yeah. It sorta does. I’m really sorry about that, Car.”  
  
Caroline smiled at Cassidy in the darkened room and knew her twin would almost hear it even if she couldn’t see it. “It’s just how I am but yeah, okay. Photography’s better than drugs, right?”  
  
Cassidy sighed but said, “You bet.”  
  
“So I’ll see you soon, genetically identical.”  
  
Cassidy chuckled. “Jayce and I’ll wait for breakfast with you, okay? I really, really want to have breakfast with you today, genetically identical.”  
  
Caroline’s eyes welled with tears but she said, “Pancakes?”  
  
“Carbs when Mom can’t say anything about them? Is that even a question?”  
  
Things were truly changing and Caroline was frightened and Cassidy knew it. Pancakes were a deflection of what they were feeling but it was a perfect answer.

* * *

Magdelena did indeed hear Caroline as she snuck downstairs. She was watching the snow from the kitchen window and looked so sad that Caroline paused before she took a picture of her. The little girl didn’t know she’d been heard until Magdalena said very quietly without turning around, “Good morning, Caroline. Snowing. Vermont. A good day for pictures, no?”  
  
Caroline smiled. She loved their Maggie. She knew how to be sad just like she was. “It’s cold and boring but why don’t you put some real clothes and a coat on? Let’s take some together.”  
  
Magdalena rushed to do so and they took pictures outside together. Doing so on such a strange and momentous day with the person she worried most about in their family, a person who was the mysterious daughter of the most mysterious person in her life, was about the happiest relief Magdalena had ever felt.

* * *

Richard held Audrey in his arms as they watched the morning snowfall. They were both awake and silent for a long, long time before Audrey whispered, “What are you thinking?”  
  
He whispered, “Our little girl’s getting married today.”  
  
“To a woman.”  
  
He sighed and said with the heaviest of sadness in his voice, “Audrey. Please.”  
  
She reached back and patted his hip gently and said lightly. “No no, Rich. I’m not angry or sad. It’s my baby’s wedding day but it’s not what I expected. That’s all.”  
  
“I know that, sweetheart. Andy knows that, too.”  
  
Audrey shook her head as she watched the white snow fall. “I wanted a white knight for our girl.”  
  
A few moments passed before he stroked her hair and said, “She got the white hair part, Aud.”  
  
Audrey laughed and it was a real laugh. “That she did.” She pulled him closer to her. “Don’t think I’m not happy, Richard. Or won’t be. I’m just bewildered. In the sense I’m lost but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”  
  
She clasped one of his large hands in hers. “Even in mythology, being lost means you might be moving toward your fate. You’ll be walking Andy toward her fate today. I’m her _mother_ , Richard. You can be her father all day long but I’m her _mother_. I want to know what will happen before it happens and I know I can’t. That’s all I mean. You’re watching your daughter get married. You made her with me but I held her and created her within me and I don’t know what to do about giving her to someone else. I’m frightened because I don’t know the end of the story.”  
  
He pulled her to him and kissed her. “I think the end of story is that Andy will be happily married. And we can’t change fate, Aud. Let go and let’s enjoy a happy day.”  
  
There was a long moment before she said, “You’re being tiresome and reasonable, Richard. We should order breakfast.”  
  
He smiled down at her. “Breakfast is overrated, Audrey.”  
  
She smiled up him. “And can be ordered late. We’re sleeping in.”  
  
“No we’re not.”  
  
He rolled on top of her and kissed her. She laughed and said “Breakfast is _so_ overrated.”

* * *

Wanda was up with the birds. “ _Papi_? I don’t know what _la jefa_ thinks to sleep so long.”  
  
Carlo scrubbed his face with his hands. He wasn’t used to luxury. He wanted to enjoy it but his wife was awake so talk he must.  “She is trying to be nice. She wants us to sleep.”  
  
They were native Spanish speakers but always spoke English with each other to keep their skills good enough for their Juan Carlo.  
  
Wanda shrugged and scowled at the snow. “ _Si_ —yes. There I see Caroline and Magdalena taking the pictures in the snow. What should we be doing?”  
  
“Sleeping?”  
  
“It is like you to say so but what can we do?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Today.”  
  
“We dress and go to the wedding.”  
  
“Everyone is awake. I can feel it, _papi_.”  
  
“Breakfast?”  
  
“It is too early, I think.”  
  
“It is. Come back to bed and sleep with me one hour. _Por favor_. We will get the reputation as Latin lovers. _Por favor,_ _mami_. I never get to sleep until real light. Come back to bed and sleep or I will feel bad with you awake.”  
  
Wanda looked at her dearest husband, who had worked double shifts for a solid week to be in this place for their family and friends. She closed the drapes to darken the room more fully. She slipped into bed and wrapped herself around him. “Sleep even two hours, _papi._ They will call the police to find us maybe.”  
  
He smiled and drifted off immediately. She put her head on his chest and found she might be able to rest after all.

* * *

John woke up and put on his winter running gear.  
  
Cecelia sighed as she heard him moving around the room. “Seriously, John? Running here?”  
  
“You run where you are, Cece.”  
  
“I sleep where I am.”  
  
“Good for you.” He sat by her prostrate form on the bed, “Thanks for coming.”  
  
Cecelia smiled up hazily at him, “If you think I’d miss Mrs. Priestly getting married again, you’ve got the wrong woman.”  
  
He smiled down at her and kissed her. “I’ve got exactly the right woman.”  
  
“Good answer. Run. Wake me for the whole mutual shower and breakfast thing.”  
  
With the mutual shower mention, John had much more pep in his step as he left the room for his run.

* * *

Doug and Lily slept in adjacent rooms. Lily knocked on his door and he opened it, bleary-eyed. She held up a pack of UNO cards she’d brought. He smiled, waved her in and they ordered an early room-service breakfast. They agreed to play to 1000.

* * *

Juan Carlo slipped from his bed. He looked at the snowfall from his window. He felt very much the man with his own room like only Sam and Doug and Nigel had. He saw Caroline and Magdalena taking pictures and smiled. But it meant Cassidy was by herself. She would be awake if Caroline was. It would not be appropriate for a young man to go to a young woman’s bedroom by himself. He knew this so he put on his slippers, walked a short way down the hall to Sam’s room and knocked on the door.  
  
Sam came to the door almost immediately in shorts and a t-shirt and asked, “Wassup, man?”  
  
“I’m sorry to wake or bother you, Sam, but Caroline is taking pictures outside. I know if she is awake, Cassidy is too. Cassidy is alone but I would like to visit her. Will you please escort me so that I can keep her company in a respectful way?”  
  
Sam was sleepily and completely charmed. “Totally, dude. Let me get some jeans on. You go get some clothes on, too. Can’t let the ladies see us in our jammies.”  
  
Juan Carlo suddenly looked alarmed and whispered, “What if she is in sleepwear? Is that appropriate?”  
  
‘What a kid,’ Sam thought as he smiled down at him. “We knock and say we want to visit, dude, and then she goes and changes while we wait. It’s cool.”  
  
Juan Carlo exhaled fiercely, “Thank you, Sam. Manhood is very difficult.”  
  
Sam refused to laugh at the little boy. “No lie, bro. Go get changed. Meetcha in the hall.”

* * *

Nigel was sleeping like a top.

* * *

Mary was awake and Roy was awake. They were snuggled together in bed but could feel, if they didn’t hear, people awake all around them.  
  
“I know why Wanda and Carlo are awake but is there any reason all these white folk need to get up so early when they don’t have to?”  
  
“That’s a question for the ages, Mary. But you must know Miranda is awake at about 5AM. She goes to sleep at 12AM usually. She’s the hardest working person I’ve known in my life and I’ve never been anything but a blue collar man.”  
  
“I wasn’t casting aspersions.”  
  
He shifted away from her.  
  
“Never say you weren’t. You were. And I know you’re kind but you don’t know her. Miranda is a multi-millionaire, Mary. I know that. I’m only her driver. You’re only a teacher. But she works harder every day than we ever will. You don’t know what it is to be her. Don’t ever disparage her to me. She is my family.”  
  
“Roy. Please. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be. I know you’re so kind you don’t mean to say anything that would hurt me and I know you care enough to come to her marriage. I’m saying for anyone to even think anything unkind about Miranda kills me because I know her and I love her and you only half-know her and don’t love her yet.”  
  
He leapt up and rummaged through his luggage and produced a box and knelt at her feet as she lay on the bed. “This might not be a good time to say this because we seem at crossroads but my da always said crossroads mean inroads.” He opened the box and said, “Would you please, please give me the honor of being your husband?”  
  
Mary looked at a truly startling ring, as surprised as she’d ever been in her life. She beamed at him. “Of course I will, Roy.”  
  
Roy sighed, placed the ring on her finger and Mary smiled down at him as she said, “And to surprise you right back? We’re pregnant.”  
  
He gaped. “Pregnant? No we’re not. What are you saying to me?”  
  
“We’re going to have a baby, Roy.”  
  
He tried to put his hands on his fiancée’s stomach but pulled them back in awe. “Never in this lifetime. I’m not good enough for this. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” He pointed at her stomach. “Are you saying our baby’s in there?”  
  
“Yes. Our child is inside me.”  
  
He seemed to deflate and Mary watched him as he looked vaguely around her stomach. “A child. Our child. You’re saying we’ll have a child?”  
  
She smiled down at him. “Yes, God willing. A boy or a girl. We can’t know which yet.”  
  
“Who could care which? A girl I hope! Or maybe a boy!” He put his head on her stomach and began to cry.  
  
Mary ran her fingers through his hair, supremely happy to know he’d wanted to marry her even without her big news.

* * *

They breakfasted apart and together. And together gathered for a ‘team’ meeting called by Emily at 9:30. She grimaced as she said, “I’m sure you all enjoyed sleeping in this morning.” The wedding party smiled in grumpy unison as she said. “You’re all free until 1500 or 3PM as you Americans choose to call it. At that point, we’ll do a quick rehearsal for the ceremony at 1800 or 6PM as you Americans choose to call it. If you need anything at all, you have my cell number. Text and I’ll text back.”  
  
“Emily?”  
  
Emily glowered at Andy. “Yes, princess?”  
  
“Texting? We’re all in the same building.”  
  
“And I want to sit still for any of you to find me exactly because?”  
  
“Emily.”  
  
“Miranda?”  
  
“Relax.”  
  
Emily just looked at her boss and then exploded in laughter. Andy did, too.  
  
Miranda said, “What?”  
  
Andy patted her fiancée, crossed the floor and hugged Emily as she continued to laugh. She whisper-sang, “Relax. Don’t do it, when you want to go to it...”  
  
Emily whispered to Andy, “That’s vulgar but ta for that.” She lifted her head and voice to everyone. “You have your marching orders. You included, Miranda. I’m the captain on this good ship Marriage. I’ll see you all soon.”  
  
Andy joined Miranda and was flummoxed when the woman said, “Don’t think I didn’t hear that. You actually quoted Frankie Goes to Hollywood lyrics on our wedding day?”  
  
Andy shrugged.

* * *

Andy and Miranda had no idea that Emily would spring something on them at 2PM. None at all.  
  
Their mutual texts read:  
  
**EmilyCharlton: Father Michael is here to discuss the ceremony.**  
  
Miranda gaped at it and said, “I can kill her, can’t I?”  
  
Andy smiled. Emily was trying. “Nope. Let’s go see Father Mike.”  
  
Father Michael was older than Miranda and his hair was whiter, if that were possible.  
  
“Hello. I’m Father Michael Sullivan and I will be officiating your wedding. I’d like to speak to you privately before the celebration of your wedding.”

* * *

Miranda stared at him. “Are you actually an Irish priest? Is Emily attempting to kill me?”  
  
He smiled at her. “My father and mother were Irish, born and bred. I’m merely an old offshoot. I’m here to officiate as a justice of the peace, which I am, but also as a priest, which I am, as well. The priest part will not be official, as you know. But I do this, as children say I believe, on the downlow. Emily, believe me, only found me after much effort. I do not advertise my willingness to bless these unions because it upsets my Bishop. Emily knows you are Catholic, Ms. Priestly, and that you are Episcopalian, Ms. Sachs. She believed having a religious observance of your union would be important and meaningful to you.”  
  
Andy smiled at him. “It’s the best wedding gift we’ll get, Father Michael.”  
  
He smiled at her. “Very well. Let’s go into this room Emily’s provided for us so we can speak for a few minutes.”  
  
Andy held Miranda’s hand. Miranda was never happily shanghaied. They crossed to a small room and all took a seat.  
  
He smiled at them and said, “Since I will be marrying you today, would you mind telling me briefly why it’s come to this?”  
  
Miranda stared at him and Andy quickly said, “Come to what?”  
  
“Marriage. Why are you getting married?”  
  
Andy pulled her chin back. “What do you mean?”  
  
He ran one hand over his white hair. “You see? I mean, I’ve married more than, maybe, 5000 couples over my years as a priest and almost none of them knew why they were getting married. Some, surely, had children they felt they had to legitimize. Some had family pressure. Financial pressure. Some had romantic ideas that were pie in the sky. You two have none of these things. Why are you getting married. It’s a question I should ask, I think, if I’m to marry you.”  
  
Andy glanced at Miranda, who was pursing her lips in a not good way. She looked from Miranda to Father Michael with just enough alarm he could see it.  
  
He smiled. “I’m not being confrontational. I’m being a priest. You didn’t ask for one but you’ve got one. You don’t have to justify yourselves to me and I’ll certainly marry you as a court official. That said, I have found it beneficial to the celebrants to express themselves concerning their reasons for marriage before the event. If they can’t tell me why they’re marrying, no matter the reason, it’s not a marriage. They feel it. I feel it, as well.”  
  
Andy took Miranda’s hand and said, “Thank you for being so thoughtful and mindful of the meaning and the sanctity of marriage. We appreciate your officiating for us. The reasons we’re marrying will be in our vows we’ve written for each other. They’re a surprise for us both but I can assure you, Father Michael, we have more than ample reason to blend our lives forever. I promise you that. I came back into this woman’s life to care for her and love her. I have never left her since and I never will. She—she stood between me and death. Nothing will keep us from each other but death.”  
  
Father Michael smiled at Andy and Miranda was so moved she chose to ignore it as she took a deep breath. “I agree with Andrea and appreciate your officiating, as well. It’s a lovely thing to have a priest for my wedding. Forgive me if sometimes being given the nth degree by a priest rankles after a Catholic upbringing.”  
  
He understood them, barked out a loud, short and happy laugh. “Doesn’t it always! Get going. I’ll say the typical formalities and then you may say your vows. Of course no communion but I will bless you with oil and holy water and pronounce you married, if that’s acceptable to you.”  
  
Miranda smiled at him. “Thank you, Father.”  
  
Andy said, “Stay for the reception, please.”  
  
“Ah, your Emily booked a room for me for three days. I’m going hiking with my dog the whole time. A little sabbatical.”  
  
Miranda blinked her eyes. “If your dog is well-behaved with other dogs and quiet, it can come to the ceremony. Our dog is attending.”  
  
“You have a dog?”  
  
“Patricia. She’s a St. Bernard. She’s nearly somnolent always.”  
  
“Then I will bring St. Roch. He’s an Australian cattle dog but he’s a Christian with other dogs but especially if I wear my robes, which I will be. He will be still and enjoy your marriage.”  
  
Miranda almost smiled at this. “He can enjoy the hospitality of the bedded kennel rooms afterward. They have long runs for each room.”  
  
Andy did smile, “When you see the facilities, you’ll almost want to sleep in them instead of your room.”  
  
Father Michael grinned. “Dog lovers, I see. Why didn’t you say so? I’ll marry you.

* * *

 

The time for the wedding came quickly enough. The attendants were so few that they gathered at the front of the largest room in the inn. It had a rustic but vaulted ceiling and because it was a lodge in Vermont, a stuffed moose head was in attendance and presumably giving its posthumous blessing. They’d erected a long platform at the end of the room with two steps leading up to it.  
  
It was stark and completely and vibrantly candlelit. Flowers were absolutely everywhere and astonishing, completely white, suffusing the air with their scent. The dark wood of the room and the white candles and flowers looked ravishingly romantic.  
  
Everyone stood as Father Michael walked down the aisle, followed by Caroline, Cassidy and Emily, who were carrying bouquets of gardenias. Caroline and Cassidy took their places stage right. They were wearing champagne-blush dresses for Andy. Emily carried her bouquet of gardenias and took her place stage left. She was wearing a dress of the faintest azure color imaginable for Miranda.  
  
Father Michael turned and nodded. The music was provided by a fantastic cellist playing the prelude of Bach’s Cello Suite Number 1 in G as Miranda had requested.  
  
Everyone turned to watch John walking Miranda down the aisle. Her dress was exactly the color of her eyes. It was formal with a hint of the most modest bodice. John walked her up the platform and kissed her cheek. She hugged him tightly, whispered “Thank you,” and he stepped down. She turned to peruse Emily, gave her a swift up and down look and almost frightened the life out of her as she kissed her cheek and whispered, “You’re perfect, Emily. Thank you.”  
  
Emily put the full force of her true English resolve into play not to cry. Serena saw and cried for her. Wanda, Carlo and Juan Carlo were crying.  
  
Richard walked Andy down the aisle as Audrey, Sam, Doug, Lily and Nigel quietly cried. Andy’s dress was a blush of rose that was completely virginal in front but exposed her back by half. Richard led his daughter up the stairs and kissed her.  
  
Nigel held Magdalena’s hand, trying to remain tear-free.  
  
Miranda took Andy’s hand. They all very quietly and reverently waited for the music to end before Father Michael began.  
  
“You may be seated. We gather together today, most cherished friends and family, to witness the joining of Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs in matrimony. I am here to officiate and to give my sacramental blessing to their union. I won’t say much more than this.  
  
“I wholeheartedly commend the union of two souls bound on one journey together. If any of you have some reason these two may not be so bound, let me hear it now.”  
  
There was silence.  
  
He smiled. “That’s what I thought. Your vows and rings will come after my consecration. Miranda. Repeat after me.” She repeated his words. “I, Miranda Priestly, take you Andrea Sachs, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”  
  
Andy smiled and said, “I have this, Father Michael. I Andrea Sachs, take you Miranda Priestly, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”  
  
Father Michael smiled and said, “You have written vows to consecrate your union and your wedding rings.”  
  
Andy beamed at Miranda. “Me first before you upstage me.”  
  
Miranda smiled at her.  
  
“Okay.” Andy sighed. “Miranda. What to say. I didn’t know who you were when I met you. Your Lieutenant Emily tried to warn me. I couldn’t hear and didn’t listen. I got a python eating a piglet lesson in respect that day.”  
  
Miranda looked out at their small congregation, “Please understand she’s being romantic.”  
  
They laughed as Andy continued. “So you hired me because I suppose I was something you’d never seen before.”  
  
Miranda nodded. “A mid-westerner disastrously dressed applicant for a job.”  
  
Andy giggled and spoke to their friends and family. “Please understand we’re getting married, okay?”  
  
She hesitated. “When I was a little girl, I dreamed about getting married to some tall, dark, handsome guy who would love me and make me feel like I was everything to him. I wanted him to look at me and know I was what he’d always dreamed of. A person who had the character to support someone, the love and passion to cherish someone. I didn’t get that. I got so much better than my dream come true, Miranda. God gave me you.”  
  
Andy turned and Caroline held a box with two rings in it. Andy placed one on Miranda’s left hand, “With this ring, Miranda, I thee wed.” She nodded firmly. That was all she needed to say. She took the second ring and said, “Right hand, lady.” Miranda held out her hand and Andy said, “I know you’ve been married before but no one has ever taken the time to marry my _Runway_ editor. I fell in love with her first so she needs a ring, too.”  
  
Miranda’s eyes welled as Andy placed it on her right hand.  
  
Miranda took a deep breath, spread her new ringed hands and looked desperately happy.  
  
She smiled at Andy. “Thank you, my love. I have only one ring for you. And nothing to say. I will sing a song I wrote for you.”  
  
She sang. No one knew she could but she did and well and it was in a fine Irish lilt.  
  
_If ever I weren’t at your side_  
_T’would only be if I had died_  
_If I were gone as might be lot_  
_I’d beg you dear forget me not_  
  
_I know our lives will ever be_  
_The hope of all we’ve yet to see_  
_Together and forever dear_  
_My hope for you through all the years_  
  
_Will be that you remember now_  
_We two are always one and how_  
_We love, have loved, will love I know_  
_My heart tells yours remember so_  
  
_Hope’s never something that I’d seen_  
_Until the day you came to me_  
_I’ve dreamed my life but now that’s through_  
_I’ve woke and smiled, woke up to you._

* * *

  
Andy cried as Miranda put the ring on her finger.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.

* * *

After the service, Emily watched with particular interest as Miranda and Andy had left the room with Father Michael and, dear as the man was, the Englishwoman hoped he wouldn’t succumb to the desire to bestow some well-meaning last minute marital advice. Surely he’d realize a couple comprised of such a risibly dissimilar marital first-timer and third-timer could be trusted to make a brilliant success or spectacular failure of it without his assistance.

Emily allotted herself a few minutes’ sense of beleaguered accomplishment. Miranda and Andy had made it through the ceremony. Marriage accomplished but this brief respite was only the halftime before the second half of the match—the reception. Two of the guests had been given their red cards. Although Patricia and Father Michael’s dog, St. Roch, had been model wedding guests, Emily heaved a sigh of relief as they were despatched to their luxury kennels afterward. She trusted Patricia to slumber but St. Roch was an exemplar of his breed with a glint in his eye suggesting he might herd people if cattle were withheld for the rest of the evening. She smirked as she imagined the animal herding the only person in the wedding party she’d once considered bovine.

Emily watched the activity in the room, the product of countless sleepless nights. She blessed the planning, people and money it required to make the utterly gruelling seem effortless. This was a _Runway_ lesson. The more ephemeral and utterly natural a photo looked, the more blood, gore and tears produced it. Just so. In a matter of minutes, a long dining table had appeared and was already gorgeously appointed. Place settings, flowers, everything. The room was perfect, she noted with grim satisfaction, just as she’d known it would be. The moose’s head was beside the point.

* * *

_After a long discussion with the owners of the inn, Emily knew it was a problem too big to text, both literally and figuratively. She’d called Andy and described the location’s many perfections but left that detail of the main hall until last._

_There had been a long silence before Andy repeated. “A moose’s head in the sense of the actual head of a moose?”_

_“It’s times like these I’m blinded by your intelligence.”_

_Andy ignored this as she thought. In terms of privacy, location, accommodation and décor, the place sounded perfect. Better than perfect, to be honest. “Would you say it’s a focus-puller, Em? I mean, once we were in the room and having the reception, would we even notice it?”_  
  
_Andy could_ hear _Emily rolling her eyes before the woman answered coolly and precisely, “I wouldn’t know. Has anyone in the wedding party ruined lives over the aglets in a pair of shoes not picking up a specific colour in a scarf? If not, I can’t imagine anyone in the wedding party kicking up at the sight of a moose’s head large enough to comfortably hold even the largest of your wedding guests in its antlers whilst overseeing the festivities with its enormous brown glass eyes, can you?”_

_“It can’t be that bad.”_

_“You’re right. If you accept it as New England lodge mounted-moose-head kitsch, I would imagine one could move past it emotionally but you cannot_ not _see it. Well, I mean of course_ you _might not have noticed it if I hadn’t mentioned it but anyone else would.”_

  
_”I just ignored that. Could the Andersons take it down while we’re there?”_

_“I asked that question and as much as they want this booking, they declined the request. Evidently they’d never burned with desire to have a mounted moose head but Mr. Anderson unfortunately ran into this moose and killed it with his truck during a heavy snowstorm. I believe they initially mounted his head as an act of propitiation but, from what they said, it sounds as if it’s become a sort of totem for them, if having named it is any indication.”_

_“They’ve named it?”_

_“Yes. Its name is Charles.”_

_“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ll talk to Miranda. She’ll be fine.”_

* * *

 

_And she had been. Miranda had seen immediately that Andy was delighted with the inn on their brief inspection trip to Vermont. The tour of the inn began and ended in the main hall. Miranda slowly walked the length and breadth of the room without expression. As she passed the moose’s head, she acknowledged it, or him, by saying, “Charles,” with an almost imperceptible nod before she went to the windows to inspect the view before agreeing they had a venue._

* * *

 

When Andy had reported this, Emily had rolled her eyes. She blinked out of that memory and blinked into the sight of the frankly surreal wedding cake looming on its own table, then to the moderately sized dance floor that had materialized at the other end of the room.

When Emily had asked about music, Miranda had made the decision against a live band without looking up from the proofs of the month’s color block, “Any band worth having would outnumber the guests.” Therefore, Lily’s DJ friend, Paco, had been shanghaied for his services and he’d fielded a set list from Andy and Miranda. He’d been surprised that Miranda’s list was more eclectic and definitely more raucous than any songs on her much younger fiancée’s list. Andy had evidently thought so herself because she’d called to caution him on erring toward taste and common sense.

Miranda had evidently suspected this because she’d called him later to specifically request certain songs while assuring him she knew he’d make wonderful decisions about the rest of the evening’s music. Lily’s initial description of Miranda completely jelled with the way the woman implicitly ordered him to be wonderful in a voice so cool it was a bit chilling. He was pretty chill himself, though, so he replied, “I’ll play your first dance and your must-haves but now that I have a feel for what you like, the rest of the night I’ll be riffing off the room. I don’t do set set-lists.”

There was a long pause before the reply, “Very well. I never cavil with an artist.”

Lily had laughed out loud when he’d repeated the conversation to her. “ _Please_. All that woman _does_ is cavil with artists.”

* * *

 

_Actually, Lily would have been surprised. Although Andy had told her that she and Emily were planning the wedding, Lily hadn’t believed it for a moment. The only detail that Miranda had kept for herself was the photographer and after reflection, she’d booked Rushkin Beaubien, a young up and comer known primarily for his landscape photography._

_He wasn’t an obvious choice at all, Andy thought, as they looked over his portfolio. So much so that she thought some more, and finally concluded, “He’s great but I think you just like his name.”_

_Miranda flipped a page. “It_ is _improbable, even for a Frenchman. But that’s not the reason. If he can make trees look as interesting as they actually are, he’ll be perfect.”_

_“You know, Caroline wanted to do the job.”_

_Miranda flipped another page, “I do know that and she knows why that can’t happen but I will have her working beforehand.”_

_“Really? How?”_

_“Establishing shots of the venue. Interiors, exteriors. I’ve also commissioned a series of black and white portraits to be taken of us and of each of the guests seated with Charles.”_

_Andy’s eyebrows shot upward. “Moose head Charles?”_

_Miranda nodded as she continued to peruse the portfolio. “The only stipulation for the photos is that no adult touch Charles and that no one in any way alter his appearance.”_

_Andy digested this before saying, “I’m sorry if I’m being obtuse but Charles is on the wall. How’s anyone going to be seated with him?”_

_Miranda took a deep breath and turned her attention to her fiancée, “I suppose one could PhotoShop them in. Or? One could place a chair on a scaffold, have a subject sit in the chair next to Charles and the photographer could shoot from another scaffold.”_

_Andy blinked twice. Two scaffolds, ladders, a chair, moose head and photography equipment. “Okay. And you want a picture of your wedding guests with a moose’s head…because?”_

_Miranda pursed her lips. “I’m giving you and Emily free and happy hands to do as you please with this wedding. Is accommodating me in the photographic aspect of the occasion a bridge too far? Am I asking for the moon?”_

_“No, Miranda. Of course not.”_

_Miranda lifted an eyebrow at the younger woman’s tone, “Don’t second assistant me, Andrea. If you and Emily chose a venue with a moose’s head prominently on display, I see no reason why Caroline can’t make use of it.”_

_Andy looked at the expression in Miranda’s eyes. “You just like the idea of it, don’t you?”_

_Miranda’s lips rose slightly as she replied, “As much as you apparently enjoy capricious motivations to my choices. I’m interested only because I believe it will serve as a character study. Very few photographic subjects are completely unaffected by their surroundings. The majority consciously, unconsciously or self-consciously present a face they imagine grounds them or justifies the situation in which they find themselves. What expression do you think Magdalena will imagine best dignifies being seated next to a moose’s head? Or your mother?”_

_Andy snorted. “Or Emily?”_

_Seeing the mirth flash in Miranda’s eyes was the equivalent of hearing a sharp, loud bark of laughter for Andy._

_“You’re sort of mean, Miranda.”_

_“_ Un petit peu _but I’ll enjoy the pictures as much as Caroline will enjoy taking them.”_

_“Easy for you to say. You’ll look like you with a moose. I’ll look like a doofus.”_

_Miranda kissed Andy on the cheek, “On the contrary, I’m certain that you and Charles will look like bosom friends. And before you take umbrage, you should take that as a compliment.”_

_Andy snorted before she smiled, knowing full well that compliments from Miranda came in every colour under the sun, some of which only the woman herself could identify._

* * *

 

It didn’t take as long as Emily imagined for the brides and their priest to reappear. Father Michael remained standing as the guests took their seats.

He smiled at them as they quieted and turned to him, “I have celebrated weddings of every size imaginable and I’ll admit I prefer smaller ceremonies. Larger weddings tend to feel less like love and more like a corporate acquisition and merger.”

Miranda said quietly but completely audibly, “Hear, hear.”

The guests smiled again and Father Michael nodded at her. “Exactly. Miranda and Andy, it is an extremely encouraging thing for a priest to see two people marry in the presence of their most loving and devoted friends and family. Through the years, as you look back upon this day, remember these people are not only guests. You should look to them, as you do today, as a source of support and emotional sustenance throughout the years of your married life. Therefore, it is only right that they share in this, your first meal as a married couple.”

He smiled brightly at them before lowering his head, “Let us pray. We thank you, Father, for this meal and for the presence of all gathered to share it. May the memory of this happy occasion forever bless their spirits as this food blesses our bodies. Amen.”

The guests murmured, “Amen.”

* * *

 

The wedding dinner was as odd and extravagant as any of them had ever seen or tasted. Andy would never have chosen anyone but Scotty Peace for the menu and the euphoric gleam in his eyes after she’d given him carte blanche had slightly alarmed her. He’d promised art for the eyes and for the palate and he’d delivered. Although the meal was comprised of a dizzying number of tiny courses, the result wasn’t an overfeeding. The courses varied from simplicity itself to dishes so artistically Byzantine in presentation that the guests were puzzled by how to approach them much less eat them.

The only person completely nonplussed was Miranda, a fact surprising no one. Neither did she pretend she knew the etiquette for eating delicious food from other dimensions of space-time. After watching the woman assail a dish with a soupspoon and butter knife, Andy and the other guests abandoned any semblance of table etiquette and smiled and laughed together as they launched their own attacks with whatever implement seemed most reasonable. Andy gave up wondering what she was eating after two successive courses came to the table in different coloured flames followed by a course Miranda breathlessly yet correctly identified as including escargot foam. The wine pairing left the adults much more than cheerfully indulging their chef while the sheer novelty of the food inebriated the children _._

As the meal drew to an end, the wait staff delivered flutes of champagne to each of the guests, including the children.

Caroline placed her flute on the table and stood with a piece of paper in one hand. Watching the blush immediately suffusing her face, the other guests were charmed and amused enough to say a collective, “Awww,” as they clapped. The girl rolled her eyes before saying, “Thank you but right about _now_ you can cut that out.”

Everyone laughed and, taking a deep breath, she ran one hand through her hair. “Okay. We _really_ didn’t know when we accepted Andy’s invitation to stand for her at this wedding that it meant standing up to make a speech. If we’d known that…” she wrinkled her nose at Andy, “we probably would have done it anyway but we just want you to know she completely suckered us into this speech thing.”

Andy blew her a mocking kiss and Caroline smiled but said, “Whatever, Andy.” Everyone chuckled as she continued, “Anyway, Cassidy and I worked on this together but it’s going to be my speaking for both of us. So yeah, I drew the short straw.”

Everyone laughed as she scanned her piece of paper one last time before placing it on the table. “By the way, they didn’t tell us this but we know we’re going first because Emily’s really the best man—for obvious reasons.”

Caroline smirked. “No offense, Emily…” she hesitated, “Mom.”  
  
Miranda and Emily both rather eerily raised one eyebrow at the same time, which delighted the rest of the table.

“Alright. We read the format for this and some sample speeches on the internet and it said we’re supposed to say something about how we met and our friendship and stuff but none of the instructions said anything about what if you were _kids_ talking about a friend who’s _not_ a kid marrying your mom who’s _really_ not a kid.”

Through the ensuing laughter, everyone heard Miranda say one cool, commanding word, “Speech?”

Caroline grinned at Cassidy and then at the other guests, “Did you know Mom’s an editor?”

Through the ensuing laughter, Caroline continued, “We didn’t meet Andy the first time we saw her bt we do remember that first time. She was Mom’s newest second assistant and we saw her first time delivering the book. She didn’t know what table to put it on and now that we know her, she was really being an Andy about it. Anyway, she caught us watching her from upstairs but she didn’t say anything. She just sort of begged us for help with her big brown eyes. Sorry about this, Andy, but she looked just like a really pretty but really dumb deer.”

Andy shook her head as Nigel and Emily led the laughter.

Caroline’s smile widened, “See Andy? Everybody thinks you look like a deer…and I’m getting a look from Mom now so—anyway, we treated Andy the way we always used to treat assistants. We completely pranked her and got her in trouble with Mom.”

Everyone at the table laughed again as even the thought of that mortifying night made Andy blush scarlet.

Caroline’s eyes twinkled at this. “It’s probably funny to you guys now and it was funny to us then. But it wasn’t funny for Andy at all and I can promise we would have been a lot nicer if we’d known one day she’d be in charge of our chores.”

Andy lifted her champagne to Caroline, “Karma bites, kid.”

Caroline lifted her champagne flute in response and said, “Like a snake.” She took the liberty given by the occasion to enjoy a swallow rather than a sip before continuing. “So, we did talk to Andy sometimes when she worked at Runway but we didn’t really get to know her before she quit. We knew right away when she quit because Mom was furious and kept being furious about it. As in _seriously_ furious about it. That maybe should have given us a clue.”

Miranda interjected, “Or given me one.”

Caroline touched her nose, then pointed at Miranda. “Remember you said it, Mom. I didn’t. Anyway, we didn’t know Andy enough to miss _her_ but we missed her doing our homework and special projects because she was really great at it. And yeah, Cassidy and I know that made us jerks back then.”

Caroline took a deep breath. “The next time we saw Andy was at the hospital after Mom was shot the first time. Then we just kept seeing her because Mom kept seeing her. It really didn’t take us very long to—” she made air quotes “ _get_ why Mom was seeing her but it took us and especially me a little longer to _understand_ why. It was a lot to get used to that Andy was half Mom’s age and she was a girl but we both agree the weirdest part was that she’s a Midwesterner.”

The Sachs family burst into laughter and Caroline beamed at them. “You guys can laugh but it was a lot to get used to. We’re New Yorkers and she’s so not. She’s polite and gentle and optimistic and honest and honestly thinks most people are really good at heart. Oh—and we don’t know if we can blame this on the Midwest but she also has no taste in fashion. Or photography. Or painting. Actually any visual art.”

“That’s all me, Car—not my geography.”

“Thought so, Andy.”

She really smiled at Andy as she continued, “All of us who knew Mom before Andy know exactly why it was pretty much the best thing ever that she fell in love with her. We’re happy and really grateful that she did—for herself most of all but for us, too. Thank you, Andy. We love you. Now, if you’ll all raise your glasses. To Andy!”

Everyone cheered Andy’s name before they sipped their champagne but Andy leapt to her feet to hug and kiss Caroline. The young girl dutifully accepted Andy’s affection with mock outrage but true exasperation, to the delight of the other guests and especially Miranda.

After a few moments, Emily stood and said, “Caroline, Cassidy—you two are the souls of discretion. There’s so much more that could be said about Andy.”

Emily simpered at Andy before focusing on the woman next to her, “Unfortunately, that’s not my happy task this evening. If I, too, start at the beginning, I knew of Miranda long before I met her. Of course I did. With the notable exception of her wife, most people _do_ know of Miranda before they meet her. At that time, working for Runway and for Miranda was the pinnacle of wish fulfilment for me and I was miserably happy to be ensconced in my position as first assistant. I was happy, that is, until the fateful day Andy Sachs walked into _Runway_.”

Emily took a heftier swallow of champagne than Caroline had. “I fully prepared to be flippant in this speech but I’ve found I can’t be. Unless you work at _Runway_ , you could never fully understand how planning a wedding for Miranda Priestly might engender a certain _esprit de corps_ in its planners I’d imagine only surpassed by entrenched soldiers on the Western front during the Great War.”

She looked at the guests. “Right. That was flippant and hyperbolic but nonetheless true. Andy and I have fought so hard together to make this day and evening everything it’s turning out to be that I find myself feeling an uncharacteristic fondness toward her.”

She gave Andy a sharp glance, “That’s not to say I don’t see the offenses she regularly commits against taste, her complete lack of visual common sense or her nonsensical condescension toward fashion journalism. What I _am_ saying is that I can see beyond these things that matter very much to me to the things that matter more to Miranda. One would think, having made it so obviously my mission in life, that I’d know what truly matters to Miranda. Of course, Miranda would have thought she knew that, too, before she met Andy.”

Emily let everyone digest that remark as she took a sip of her champagne. “It was my duty, per Miranda, to work with Andy to create her perfect wedding day. Naturally I gird my loins for an unprecedented aesthetic assault but comically enough, Andy’s idea of a perfect wedding day meant giving Miranda _her_ perfect wedding day. The irony wasn’t lost on either of us that we were, therefore and yet again, yoked together on a mission to please Miranda.”

Emily placed her glass on the table, and made a sweeping gesture with both hands. “Look around you. _This_ is the result. This is Miranda’s perfect wedding day. Naturally, it’s visually stunning but think about the meal we just enjoyed. It was like eating a particularly capricious version of Cirque du Soleil—sheer madness. And you’ve seen the cake. Andy specifically asked the baker for a cake skyscraper and it was her express intent that it look like the architectural love child of mad King Ludwig and Tim Burton.” Emily lifted one eyebrow at Andy. “Something nearly too insane, scary and beautiful to eat.” Andy quite predictably blushed and Emily’s smirk was triumphant, “Andy loves that cake. Miranda loves it, too.”

“In fact, I’m certain that Miranda adored the lunacy of dinner. Miranda’s delighted we have a guest dog and moose head. This is what Andy taught me in the trenches of wedding planning. I should have known it and perhaps I did but didn’t have words for it. Miranda is deeply gratified by the interjection of the improbable. I won’t presume to say why but I will say I know it’s not for kitschy reasons. Look at us all. I’m an improbable best man, you’re an improbable lot of wedding guests and nothing on Earth could be more improbable than Andy.”

She lifted her glass from the table, “I happen to agree with the primacy Miranda confers upon her aesthetic sensibility. The matters of _Runway_ matter deeply to her as they matter to me. That said, I’m honoured to have been the one she chose to stand at this celebration of what matters much more to her than that—love and family and friends.”

She raised the glass and smiled, “Enough. Miranda and Andy, we wish you the joyful marriage your improbably complimentary souls deserve.”

Everyone cheered as they all raised their glasses but Miranda stood to hug and kiss Emily, who dutifully accepted Miranda’s affection with entirely unfeigned horror, to the delight of the other guests and especially Andy.

* * *

 

It was a simple, sweet and short first dance. Miranda and Andy had chosen Norah Jones’ rendition of _The Nearness of You_. After Andy had danced with her father, Paco picked up the tempo. The adults and children took turns dancing with each other. Within thirty minutes, they were dancing en masse and all of the women had shed their heels except for Magdalena, who took her lack of height seriously and was impressively unimpeded by them. Father Michael sat out but clapped along with the music.

After an hour, Miranda gave Paco a signal and, within a few songs, he’d mixed in _Jump_ by Kris Kross. The kids immediately and gleefully jumped up and down and the adults gamely joined in. Miranda sang along and jumped with real gusto. Three quarters of the way through the song, Paco mixed in House of Pain’s _Jump Around_ and Miranda shouted “That’s my jam!” loud enough for everyone to hear above the din of the music. Although hampered by the hilarity of this announcement, everyone eagerly danced and jumped along with her. As they jumped past each other, Emily mouthed the question, “Her _jam_?” to Andy, who whooped with laughter. Miranda sang laughed until tears were streaming down her face as she sang and danced. Magdalena and John, who were jumping together, saw this and smiled at each other. It was the rarest of sightings—Miranda transported by joy.   

* * *

 

After two delightfully gruelling hours on the dance floor punctuated by a few slower numbers, much champagne and the serving of the cake skyscraper, Emily pulled Miranda aside privately. Even as she did so, she wondered what wizardry made it possible for a woman twice her age to merely glow becomingly in the perfection of her Herrera dress after eating approximately 80 courses of food, drinking copious glasses of wine, chasing it all down with an immodest piece of cake and dancing with startling vigor. She looked Miranda over once more before she spoke and felt a shocking wave of reverence break over her. My _God_ , what the woman’s mascara had been through! And look at it—dry as a bone!

“Yes, Emily?”         

“Oh. Right. Far be it from me to say, but I think—“

“I love that expression.”

“What?”

“Far be it from me to say—you’re saying it’s not your place to say something but you’re about to say it anyway.” Miranda stepped closer and whispered, “Just so you know, no one who says that ever thinks it’s not their place to say what they’re going to. Saying ‘far be it from me’ is the verbal appetizer for a main course of words the person wants you to eat.”

Emily blinked twice at this analogy and concluded, “You’re drunk.”

“Not in the least. As the children say—I’m just sayin’. Please forgive my interruption. Far be it from me to keep you from your subject.”

Emily wasn’t drunk either but she was fortified enough to pinch the bridge of her nose as she gave Miranda a withering look, “Fine. You’re right. I feel fully justified in saying you’re overstaying your welcome at your reception, Miranda. I’m thrilled you’re enjoying yourselves but it’s customary for the newlyweds to sooner rather than later push off for their connubial…” she lowered her voice and hissed, “ _bliss_ so that the guests and the caterers can finally, _finally_ relax.”

Miranda’s mouth twitched at the expression on Emily’s face. “And by guests and caterers, you mean you, don’t you?”

Emily thought for one second before settling for nodding curtly.

Laughter danced in Miranda’s eyes, although her face was implacable. “My, my. I suppose I _had_ better clear out if you’re reduced to choosing your words.”

“Oh, Miranda. I choose silence at least once per hour with you, sometimes more than once per minute.”

“I know that, Emily. Everyone does that with me. It’s terrifically entertaining to watch people so often and so visibly choosing not to speak. It makes what they _do_ say so interesting.”

Emily nodded again. It was slightly insulting because Miranda _was_ serious but it was amusing because she was also teasing. Amusing but not funny. Fair enough. Miranda was always claw-sy when she’d had an emotional day, for better or worse.

As if she’d read her mind and Emily wouldn’t have been surprised if she could, Miranda said, “I apologize. You know better than anyone I don’t enjoy being the center of attention when I have no decisions to make. Being rude was my inelegant segue into thanking you for your speech.”

Emily immediately blushed to the roots of her hair. “Right. Well. You’re welcome. Don’t mention it.”

Miranda smiled, “I know you mean that literally but I will mention it. Thank you for saying what you did and thank you for not saying what you didn’t. You showed me exactly as much warmth and understanding as I could publicly tolerate. I may seem oblivious to it, but I do see you always err on the side of protecting me and not just from bullets. I won’t embarrass you by saying anything more than I chose you to be my best man because you really are the best.” She leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on Emily’s rosy cheek before saying, “Per your orders, I’ll collect Andrea and start the goodnights.”

Emily cursed her complexion as she nodded. “Good. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to know your cabin will be in a perfect state of readiness when you get there. It’s almost like magic if you know the right people.”

Miranda smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on her dress, “Knowing the right people is all the magic one needs, Emily. Of course, being the right person is the best magic of all."  
  
"Right. Well you'd know."

For their honeymoon night, Andy and Miranda had been moved to a small private cabin. It was secluded away from the lodge but within easy walking distance. They were both glad for the bracing air after the food and wine and the warmth of the dancing. Andy took Miranda’s arm as they walked, an uninterrupted sea of stars above them in the rural Vermont sky. The path to the cabin had been cleared of snow and was illuminated by scores of light pink Japanese lanterns. As Miranda was thinking how soft and eerie the lanterns looked, Andy took her arm from Miranda’s and put it around the woman’s waist. “Did you have fun?”  
  
Miranda smiled at the question. Thank God for Andy and Emily. She expected the unreasonable every minute of her professional life but she’d never have imagined fun would be something personally reasonable to ask from a wedding and certainly never would have planned for it. She supposed it was possible they hadn’t planned it and it had just happened. Miranda wasn’t quite sure how fun worked for her—not until she happened to find herself having it. Planned for or not, she _had_ had it so she answered, “Yes.”  
  
Andy smiled and squeezed her waist. “Good. I had a blast. I think everyone else did, too. I wish we had video! I could watch Carlo and Nigel dancing the shopping cart together for the rest of my life.”  
  
“My choice would be Wanda and Magdalena but I wouldn’t need the video. The fact their hips don’t lie is forever burned on my retinas.”  
  
Andy snorted through laughter, “Oh my God. That was insane. Who knew!?”  
  
“I certainly didn’t but that said, I’m grateful it was video-free. I’d never want to relive the spectacle I made of myself.”  
  
“Oh please. You were terrific.”  
  
“I’m sure. For a middle-aged woman.”  
  
”For any woman. Not only are you a mean little mover, you effortlessly maintained ironic distance while singing wiggida wiggida wiggida wack. I was insanely impressed.”  
                       
Miranda barked out a laugh, “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
“Bonus points for me, then. Aren’t the lights pretty!”   
  
“They are.”  
  
As they arrived at the cabin, Andy said, “I have to warn you that this is going to be a surprise for me as well. I wanted something about the day to surprise us both so I turned the space over to Emily and wouldn’t give her any suggestions. So we’ll see, alright? The rules are if you like it, it’s all Emily. If you don’t, it was me.”   
  
As she opened the door, Andy’s mouth dropped open. This wasn’t the rustic cabin she’d seen. There was a low Japanese platform bed covered in white linen on one side of the cottage and a fire crackling in the large fireplace on the opposite wall. Tall and beautifully trained grey-barked cherry trees in full pink spring blossom stood in black ceramic pots at each corner of the bed. Pale pink paper lanterns were suspended from their limbs, some of which stretched over the bed, lending their light to that of the fireplace.  
  
Miranda sat on the bed, looked around her from that vantage point and patted the bed. “Come and look. Our wedding bed is being guarded by attractive Yoshino tree people.”   
  
Andy sat down beside her and looked at the trees. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
Miranda took her shoes off and lay flat on the bed, “It’s not bad.”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes and said, “It’s a knockout and you know it,” as she joined her. They watched the play of the candlelit lanterns’ reflections on the ceiling in silence for a few minutes. Miranda took Andy’s left hand in hers and whispered, “It was a lovely wedding.”   
  
“It was.”   
  
“Thank you for marrying me.”  
  
Andy smiled at the ceiling. “It was entirely my pleasure.”  
  
After another few minutes of silence, she asked, “Do you want to stay here in the forest for a while or do you want to explore the bathtub?”  
  
“Are you saying you want a bath or are you trying to seduce me? If it’s the latter, you could do that here. We wouldn’t even have to get up.”  
  
Miranda’s voice was quiet and even pleasant but it was subtly something else as well. Andy turned on her side, propped her head up on one hand and studied Miranda’s profile for a clue to what had sounded like an emotional shift. She settled for the obvious and asked softly, “Are you tired, sweetheart?”  
  
Miranda turned her head and said, “Not really.”  
  
“What then?”  
  
Her blue eyes surveyed the room as if the answer were outside herself. “I’m not sure, actually. I think I’m a little overwhelmed.”  
  
Andy scooted closer to her, “Why? By what?”  
  
Miranda didn’t answer for a few moments. She finally reached up with one hand and cupped Andy’s cheek. “You’re perfect tonight. A perfect vision.”  
  
Andy grinned sweetly, “Thank you—you are too.”  
  
“Thank you but no. Not like you. Not like these trees.”  
  
Andy tilted her head at that answer and looked at the solid grey trees, then at their blossoms lightly trembling with the infinitesimal shifts of air in the room. Perfect, young, pink and fragile.   
  
Ah. Well. True enough.   
  
“The blossoms _are_ pretty, Miranda, but the trees are perfect. You need to remember that.”   
  
Miranda smiled and looked as sad as it was perfectly realistic to be when you knew you’d just married someone you knew and hoped would outlive you. Andy could read that meaning in the expression as easily as reading a neon billboard. She returned the smile with a happier one and determined to sound matter-of-fact rather than exasperated. “Tell you what, Priestly. The trees may be a little too visually on the nose regarding our age difference and God knows they’re poetic but instead of lying here composing a wedding ode called intimations of mortality, I think you just need to decompress. Today had to be emotional jujitsu for you because it certainly was for me. Wanna take a bath?”  
  
Andy saw the flash—the split-second—it took for Miranda to peruse the emotional options and make the decision to accept this change of focus. She noted with an inward scowl that _of course_ she saw it. She _was_ as sensitive as a damned cherry blossom.   
           
Especially when she found Miranda’s eyes suddenly sweeping over her body and heard the woman saying, “I think I could decompress just as easily in bed.”   
  
“See that, Miranda? Just a little plain talking and your thoughts turn from mortality to la petite mort.”   
  
Miranda blinked at her. “Or not. A bath it is. Anything but your raillery.”  
  
“You like my raillery.”  
  
“Yes, Andrea. Of course, Andrea.”  
  
“Stop that.

* * *

  
The large bathroom was warmed by a its own small fireplace and lit by the pink paper lanterns hanging from the branches of four Bonsai cherry trees placed on stands at each rounded corner of a huge claw foot tub.  
  
“This is beautiful but I’m beginning to sense a theme.”  
  
Andy ignored this, letting her attention wander past the plush towels, soaps and bath oils arranged atop a Japanese tea chest to a black coat stand in the far corner from which two white robes were hanging, to a standing ice bucket holder, “Oh look—champagne! Want some?”  
  
“Yes, but surely this is a bit too much of a programming note. As in, clothes will be removed where there’s a place to hang them and champagne will be taken in the bath at the commencement of the evening.”   
  
“Oh no.” Andy gasped, looking extraordinarily sheepish as she removed the cage from the wine’s cork. “Speaking of programming. I wasn’t thinking—I think I should have asked something important.”   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“When I suggested the bath, I was just trying to—I didn’t mean to preclude the whole wedding night lingerie reveal...not that I thought of it in those words exactly or even thought you thought that’s what we’d do but if you were thinking we would we can still do that in here or we could, you know—or would that be special enough to just…” she paused and looked ruefully at the empty tub, “ _Bathe_?”   
  
Miranda actually felt her breathing catch at Andy’s rambling. She was seldom more enchanted than when the younger woman was just this shade of bumblingly unsure of herself. It invoked the memory and the _frisson_ of their working relationship, which had been for her—in the clarity of hindsight—pleasurably predatory and pure sex.   
  
She gave Andy an appraising once over. “A bath can be very special, Andrea. Or don’t you remember our first bath?”  
  
Andy’s face flushed red. Of course she remembered it. Miranda’s voice was as hot now as the bath had been that night. Even the cork Andy had finally managed to loosen seemed to remember that bath if the sound of its sudden soft pop was any indication.   
  
Miranda gently took the bottle from Andy and poured the wine. “We’re doing this out of order. First thing’s first.” She lifted her glass. “To us.”  
  
Andy tapped her glass with Miranda’s, “To us.”  
  
After one sip, Miranda leaned forward and kissed Andy very tenderly, then ran one thumb over Andy’s lips. “Back to my original thought. Bed first. Bath later.”  
  
“Bath late, then."

* * *

 

“I loved this dress on you, Andrea. It was flawless.”   
  
Miranda was standing behind Andy unbuttoning her dress and the younger woman felt goosebumps scatter over her skin at the sound and feeling of her dress’s slipping into past tense. Although the room was pleasantly warm, Andy shivered as Miranda slowly exposed her skin, closed her eyes and let her focus collapse into the sound of the fire, Miranda’s murmuring, the feeling of warm hands slowly, slowly, exposing her but not yet touching her. She inhaled sharply as Miranda gently pushed the fabric open and forward down her arms, leaving the dress pooled at the waistline before skimming her soft warm hands down the straps of Andy’s bra.  
  
Miranda’s voice was low and soft. “This silk is lovely.” She unzipped the zipper beneath the buttons and gasped at the vision of what she uncovered. She slid the dress over Andy’s hips and down her legs. “Step.” Andy stepped out of the circle of fabric and gasped as Miranda slowly ran her hands over stocking-covered legs.   
  
“Turn around please.”   
  
Miranda’s eyes widened. “That’s… _well_ …you’ve certainly outdone yourself.”   
  
“Really?”  
  
Miranda nodded. Andy was wearing a white silk bra and panty set trimmed with incarnadine lace and an incarnadine garter belt clipped to her sheer stockings. She looked down at herself before asking in an equally silky voice, “Does incarnadine suit me?”  
  
Miranda pursed her lips, “Oh honestly, if you’re going to remember every little thing I say.”   
  
Andy sighed because—just like that—the mood was gone. Oh well.  “Oh, c’mon. You’ve said it a few times but the first was our first date—of course I remember it. I get to make visual allusions, too, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda’s mouth twitched at the earnestness of that declaration. “Of course you do, Andrea, and I must say although the garter belt does hearken back, it’s a tremendous step up from that ridiculous belt buckle.”  
  
Andy grinned . “To quote the kids—I know, right? But don’t think I can’t see it’s all been fantastic editing on your part, Miranda. You’ve kept the ‘in love with the girl’ part but ditched the hospital room for this cabin and that belt for this one.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dare take credit for that. A divinity shapes our ends, after all. If I were a romantic of a certain sort, I might imagine that room a prefigurement of this one.”  
  
“You’re a romantic of exactly that sort.”    
  
Miranda bent to retrieve Andy’s pink dress from the floor, then turned and said over her shoulder, “Would you help me with my dress?”   
  
“Of course.” Andy said before she was gobsmacked by the sight of her task. “Wow. This dress is a dream come true but trust you to beat me in the button war.”   
  
“There was no button war.”  
  
“If you say so—but you’re not doing the unbuttoning. It may not be a war but it’s at least a skirmish.”  
  
Feeling the feathery movements of Andy’s soft hands, the fabric of Andy’s dress in her own, Miranda smiled at the fire, herself, her life. “Andrea.”  
  
“Yes, Miranda?”  
  
“I’m changing moods and subjects and worrying about where to put dresses and quoting Shakespeare to forestall my tendency to quibble when nervous. I told you I was overwhelmed and I am but don’t think I’ve lost my place. I’m completely aware this is the only wedding night we’ll ever have and I’m incandescent with desire for you but—“  
  
Andy was focused on the last few cunningly difficult buttons. “No worries. I’ll hang the dresses up in the bathroom.”   
  
“I wasn’t saying—I wasn’t asking that.”   
  
“I know exactly what you’re saying. I happen to be listening and, what’s more, ” Andy bit her very gently on the nape of her neck and whispered, “I hear you. It’s my pleasure to assist you, Miranda, and right now I’m assisting you out of this dress.”  
  
Miranda’s lingerie was of blue silk. Andy drank in the sight with appreciative eyes and the older woman chose that moment to say, “The colour is one of the darker shades of Egyptian blue.”  
                       
Andy looked up from a happy vision to a happier one—Miranda’s eyes filled with impish mirth. But that was before she said, “Egyptian blue is the world’s oldest artificial pigment, Andrea. Does it suit me?”  
           
Andy’s mouth dropped open. “O— _kay._ That was so…you know what? No. Watch what I can do, Miranda. This is my leaving what you just said completely alone. I’m going to hang up these dresses now and when I come back to the room—no more lingerie. I’m totally serious. It’s getting us off track.”  
  
“You bereave me. Does that mean the lingerie reveal is over?”  
  
Andy’s eyes tightened at Miranda’s smug expression. “I told you I didn’t call it that in my mind.”   
  
Miranda waved one dismissive hand, “Of course you did. Admit it.”   
  
Andy bit out the words. “Fine. I did. But I’m not kidding here. No more lingerie reveal and, I swear to…” she pointed at Miranda fiercely, “No more age jokes, allusions or analogies and…and…no more Hamlet!”  
  
Miranda tilted her head, “For curiosity’s sake, no more Hamlet or what? Or else?”  
  
Andy stifled a laugh before saying without smiling, “Lay on Macduff and you’d better believe you’ll be the first to cry ‘hold, enough.’”   
  
Miranda lifted one eyebrow, “Oh, you think so?”  
  
Andy shot her a withering glance before leaving the room to hang the dresses. She smiled contentedly as soon as she’d turned her back. This was all so _them_. Their wedding night was going swimmingly as far as she was concerned.  
  
Miranda was slightly shocked as she watched Andy walk away. So shocked that she chuckled even as she ogled. She’d completely forgotten Andy was wearing lingerie. Trust her to win the button skirmish and to love talking and playing with the gorgeous woman she’d married even more than looking at her.

* * *

 

  
Miranda had certainly taken her at her word, Andy thought. At her word and without a word.  
  
As Miranda guided her back onto cool cotton sheets, her eyelids fell closed just enough to make everything above her, trees and lanterns and Miranda, even more hazily romantic than it already were. Miranda’s soft, naked body pressed her into the bed with a weight so intensely familiar that it made her body and heart ache. Miranda kissed her for a few minutes before slowly pulling away and sitting up. She then surprised Andy by straddling her waist and looking down into Andy’s eyes. “I need your attention for a moment.”  
  
”Okay.” Andy smiled uncertainly but said, “You certainly have it.”   
  
“You have mine, as well.” Miranda moved gently on Andy’s stomach, “Can you feel it?”   
  
Andy worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Oh yeah. Sure can.”   
  
Miranda nodded. “Good. I think we’re both past ready so I’m going to tell what I want to do and then I’ll tell you what I hope we’re going to do.”  
  
Andy furrowed her brows at this but said, “Alright.”   
  
Miranda leaned forward until her breasts were resting on Andy’s, her hands on either side of the woman’s head. She whispered into her ear, “You look so…fucking _new_ and sweet and pretty tonight that it makes me want to be everything _but_ gentle with you.”   
  
Her mouth was hot and wet against Andy’s ear, “But wouldn’t that be a shame, Andrea? Can you imagine my doing that to you? Being so demanding and so relentless and withholding that you had to beg me for it on our wedding night?”  
  
“Well…I see your point but…” Andy cleared her throat and her voice was higher pitched than normal, “I’m sure…somehow…I’d manage to get over it.”  
  
Miranda leaned back, smiled down into Andy’s eyes and said silkily. “Yes. Somehow, I’m sure you would.”   
  
She gently tickle-scratched Andy’s stomach with her nails. She suddenly didn’t sound at all like herself. “That’s what we’re not doing tonight, if you don’t mind. What I’d really like to do is hold you and love you and talk and quibble and drink more champagne in the bathtub. But only if that’s amenable to you and only if it won’t bore and disappoint you.”  
  
Andy heard the hesitancy in the woman’s voice and looked up at poor, anxious Miranda sitting on her throne. A throne that was her, actually, at the moment. Andy knew better than anyone it was nearly never really ‘good to be the queen.’   
  
So she kept it light and shrugged, “What are you talking about, Miranda? Are you kidding? That sounds fantastic.”   
  
She watched Miranda’s tension ratchet down a notch before she added, “Not that I mean you’re not welcome to fuck me so hard you make me forget my own name tomorrow. Don’t think you’ve closed any doors here.”    
  
Miranda sighed, “Our wedding night is devolving into ribaldry.”  
  
“Please. Now that we have our bearings straight, our wedding night is about to become the most romantic night of our lives.”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
“I do say so—and you have to admit I’m generally right about these things.”

* * *

Andy _was_ generally right about these things but happened to be particularly right about this one. 

* * *

 

**Two Weeks Later**

Miranda poured a glass of red wine and took it and Caroline’s newly hand-delivered 8x10 portfolio to her study. She did something she never did when perusing the book. She sat in her favorite chair and propped her feet up on an ottoman. The portfolio was titled _Charles and Guests_ and was comprised of black and white photographs of individual and paired wedding guests. For the individual shots, the guest was seated in a chair next to Charles. In the paired pictures, two chairs were placed on either side of Charles’ head. Miranda was intensely curious about the results of this shoot and particularly interested in seeing which adults had obeyed her edict that they not touch the moose.  
  
Father Michael did not touch Charles but sat beside him with obviously unperturbed equanimity. His smile was almost radiantly Irish and priestly.    
  
Patricia and St. Roch were not touching Charles. Miranda considered it an excellent character portrait of both dogs. Patricia’s attention was clearly divided between Caroline, the moose and St. Roch. Asking the poor soul to concentrate on one thing was difficult enough, much less three. She looked sweet and sweetly baffled, which was her default. St. Roch was handsome, stern and task-driven, his attention completely focused on Charles, a subject clearly worth herding.   
  
Richard and Audrey sat on either side of Charles. It was an excellent picture of both of them. They looked happily engaged with having their portrait taken but gave absolutely no visual indication they were aware a moose’s head was between them. It suggested an impressive ability to ignore pattern disconcertion, which was more amusing than surprising to Miranda at this point. Not that it wasn’t sometimes hard won. Audrey’s pleasant presence at the wedding was evidence enough of that.  
  
John and Cecelia weren’t touching the moose, either, but everything about their smiles said, ‘Look—Caroline’s taking a picture of us with a moose between us!’  They looked as carefree together as she’d ever seen them. Miranda had always suspected John would never allow himself to be happier than she was. He looked like he’d finally let himself of the hook. Good for him. Good for Cecelia.  
  
Magdalena did not touch the moose but sat close enough to him to confer a sense of solidarity between them. She stared into the camera with grim hauteur, exactly as if she and Charles were the two remaining siblings of a lost Spanish nobility.  
  
Sam sat smiling rakishly into the camera with one hand on each of his thighs. He wasn’t touching Charles but he was leaning sideways toward him. Everything about his expression and posture indicated his attention was divided between being photographed and listening to something Charles was saying.   
  
Roy and Mary were both beaming on either side of Charles with their cheeks to moose jowls so that Roy could place one hand on Mary’s stomach. The hand Mary had placed over his had a ring on it and Charles seemed a party to their happy news.            
  
Nigel smiled into the camera, looking happy and relaxed, a sight as relatively rare for him as it was for her. He wasn’t touching Charles but they were wearing matching cashmere scarves. Miranda chewed the inside of her cheek at the sight, thinking it would be quite something to come upon a moose wearing a scarf in the wild. Of course, her life was full of such images—images of ideas she wished for that didn’t exist. Pictures of ideas of things—never the things themselves. Nigel understood this.   
           
Lily and Doug didn’t touch Charles. They smiled closely enough to him to ensure they were all in frame and rather obviously so. Miranda pursed her lips. A rookie mistake for models who considered their photographer a rookie. Despite that misconception, the picture was lovely and Miranda was pleased to see they both looked relaxed and confident. Gone, evidently, were the days when these two could be frightened by this kind of whim on her part. She didn’t kid herself that they still weren’t frightened of her.   
  
Wanda and Carlo weren’t touching Charles and although they smiled, it was in the dignified, humble way people smile when a person of greater importance is in the frame with them. She knew they felt great reverence for the sacrament of marriage and if a moose had been chosen as a signifier of the occasion, they gave him his due. As such, it was a wonderful portrait of wonderful people she felt lucky to have been shot to meet.  
  
Juan Carlo and Cassidy sat on either side of the moose with their cheeks on his. Miranda had always wondered what would happen when the twins inevitably met a boy or girl they both liked. Now that it had happened and earlier than she’d imagined, it hadn’t seemed to involve any negotiation at all. Juan Carlo and Cassidy were holding hands under Charles’ neck and gazing into the camera with a look of such intense fondness for the photographer that it made her a tacit part of the picture. Miranda was certain it had been Juan Carlo who’d interpreted sitting for Caroline’s first professional assignment as a very solemn trust. Evidently so much so that neither of them were smiling. Their earnest, loving faces made Miranda smile.  
  
Caroline had used a remote control to snap her self-portrait. An open laptop, cameras, cases, lights, ladders and the rigging for the scaffolds surrounded Charles. She wasn’t looking at the camera. She was combing Charles’ hair, her face serious and thoughtful. Miranda was pensive as she studied her more difficult, less happy child. Her artist at work. She gave Caroline’s image a wistful, sympathetic tap with one forefinger.   
  
Serena was dressed in black jeans, turtleneck and cowboy boots. She wasn’t looking into the camera. She was looking at Charles with a sly and salacious 1000-watt smile. Her vibrancy juxtaposed with Charles’s fixed expression conferred upon the moose the stunned look of a man propositioned by a woman completely out of his league. Charles looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. Miranda laughed out loud.   
  
Emily sat cheek to cheek with Charles and had looped one arm under his neck to place a hand on the moose’s other cheek. Her expression was decidedly more imperious than Magdalena’s. Miranda was shocked to discover this was possible.   
  
Andy was wearing a faded green sweatshirt, a Yankees ball cap and very little makeup. She looked roughly about eighteen years old. Like her parents, brother and friends, she’d obeyed the rules and wasn’t touching Charles. She was, however, sitting as closely as she could without touching him, smiling brightly at Caroline exactly as if Charles were smiling with her. Actually, she was smiling enough for both of them and it was difficult not to notice how big and exactly the same shade of brown their eyes were. Miranda made a critical assessment of the picture and decided her wife did not, as she’d feared, look like a doofus. True, she looked vaguely related to Charles but surely that was a happy thing. Miranda loved the picture. Andrea was like and unlike finding a moose wearing a scarf in the wild. She was that impossible thing devoutly wished for. Miranda finally had both the picture and the thing itself.     
  
She turned to the last page with some trepidation. The only picture left was Caroline’s portrait of her. She stared at it, scarcely believing her eyes. The photo showed her seated next to Charles laughing uproariously with one side of her face and head nestled in the fur on his neck. Miranda thought back to the shoot.   
  
She’d been pleased enough to be sitting next to Charles and had perhaps been directing and grilling Caroline rather than talking with her about the set-up and her progress. The girl had paid her little attention as she rifled through her lens case. She _had_ been listening, however, because she’d finally become irritated enough to snap, “Jesus H. Christ, Mom! _I’m_ shooting this, not you. News flash! You’re an _editor_. You don’t get to edit stuff before there’s something to edit.” She’d narrowed her icy blue eyes at Miranda, “And in case you’re wondering? Just so ya know? That includes people.”   
  
This outburst had been so surprising, and true, that Miranda burst into laughter. Caroline had been fast enough to snap the picture and so—there she was—captured forever deliriously happy and laughing at herself. With a moose. At her wedding.   
  
Good.

* * *

 


	38. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and A/N from Chapter One apply to all chapters.
> 
> Chapter 37 could be considered the end of this story. This chapter is set in the future as indicated by time stamps. To repeat for reference, Miranda was 51 in the last chapter, Andy 26, children 11. Isabelle Malara, the first person who shot Miranda, was 23.

* * *

**Eight Years After The Wedding**

_Interview_ Magazine  
DP Priestly  
By Isabelle Malara  
Photography DP Priestly

19-year-old photographer DP Priestly is arguably the most influential young blogger writing in New York City. Her blog is a dizzying mixture of photography, graphic manipulations and commentary upon whatever strikes her mood. Her taste and interests are so prescient that readers have begun to wonder whether she’s spotting trends or creating them. She’s never given an interview and agreed to this one only if she could photograph herself and the introduction were exactly 100 words. She spoke with National Book Award winner Isabelle Malara with whom she’s collaborating on a new book of essays and photos titled _Semi-Religious Women_.

* * *

Isabelle Malara: I’m pressing record on this now—or actually touching it since this is digital.

DP Priestly: You said that because you know it can be illegal not to tell someone you’re recording her, didn’t you?

IM: Yes and I’ve just laughed and suddenly realized that won’t be included in the transcription.  
  
DPP: I wish I could transcribe the look on your face right now.

IM: That’s neither funny nor helpful, thank you, Caroline. Now I’ve made myself hyper-aware of the fact we’re recording this conversation so I suppose we’ll have to say up front that none of what follows is serious except when it is.

DPP: That about covers it.

IM: Should we say where we are?

DPP: Sure. Me and Izzy and my pit bull Gnasher are kickin’ it in my Bed-Stuy crib, sippin on some gin and juice. Well, actually, Gnasher’s waving his cup but he ain’t chipped in.

IM: I’m hastily editing that for truth. We’re in Caroline’s studio apartment in lower Manhattan and her French Bulldog puppy, Hector, is snoring in a basket on the floor. Caroline is 19 so we’re drinking ginger carrot juice unadulterated with alcohol

DPP: Further verification that Izzy’s no scofflaw, people, but she is a spoilsport with facts.

IM: Don’t blame me. You’re the one who spoiled the Snoop Dogg allusion by giving your imaginary pit bull a Wuthering Heights dog’s name.

DPP: Okay readers, I laughed at that. Transcribe that laugh as a bark of amused acknowledgment. Dude, I totally forgot there was an Isabella in that book.

IM: Yes. An unfortunate one.

DPP: Not as unfortunate as her dog.

IM: Not true and you know it. Fanny got off light comparatively but, at any rate, Skulker’s my favorite dog name in that book.

DPP: Me too. I remember thinking when I read it the first time there was no way in hell I’d hang out with people who named their dogs Gnasher and Skulker.  
  
IM: Don’t forget Gnasher’s friend Wolf and I agree but I think I’m going to fail majestically at this interviewing business if we’re already talking to the readers and about dogs in Wuthering Heights.

DPP: Are you kidding me? More people need to talk about dog names in literary classics. You just don’t get value like that everywhere, Iz. As for the readers, we can’t exactly stop talking to them now. If you blatantly break the fourth wall and then pretend the audience isn’t there, they keep wondering when you’re going to wink at them again. We’ve already created a self-aware interview structure so let’s roll with it. I never meta-interview I didn’t like.

IM: Oh, dear.

DPP: Sorry. Moving on. Did you actually have a plan for this or were you hoping it’d be more organic?

IM: And now she’s smirking at the word organic. I’m transcribing that smirk Caroline and yes, I have questions.

DPP: Let’s hear ‘em.

IM: Okay. Here we go. A little history. Obviously, I knew you in a distant way when I worked for your mother.  
  
DPP: Very distantly and that was when we were ten.

IM: Yes, and because you used the plural, let’s tell the uninformed that I wasn’t ten when you were. You have an identical twin named Cassidy.

DPP: I do indeed and if I say we when I should be saying I, I’m speaking of Cassidy and me, not using the royal we. Oh, and DP is the nickname my boy Juan Carlo gave me a few years ago, as in Director of Photography. Everyone calls me DP except my family.

IM: And me.

DPP: And you. Fair enough because I’m the only one who calls you Izzy.

IM: To my dismay. Another tragic Isobel.

DPP. Yep—but we can’t talk _Grey’s Anatomy._ That’s fatal.

IM: It really is.

DPP: At least I spell Izzy with a y and not an ie.

IM: Thereby inoculating me from terminal cancer and disastrous romantic and professional decisions?

DPP: Something like that.

IM: I remember reading your blog when you first started it at age fourteen and being really impressed with your photos and with you. There was nothing childlike about your photography and your wit often belied your age but you were also really funny in a kid way and that made me somehow feel relieved and happy for you.

DPP: Oh, I gotcha—because I wasn’t totally prematurely mature.

IM: Exactly.

DPP: Five minutes in my company would tell anyone I’m still immature now, much less five years ago.

IM: You said it—not me.

DPP: Let’s do the housekeeping for those readers who know where you were when I was fourteen.

IM: I was in a maximum-security correctional facility until I was 28 and you were 16 years old. I had your mother’s and the warden’s written permission to read _Runway_ and your blog.

DPP: Her having permission to read us wasn’t as stan-ish as it sounds but she’s not the subject here. I am. I just didn’t want you people all tantalized thinking you knew something we’re trying to keep from you.

IM: Because journalistic ethics preclude our keeping anything from you.

DPP: That’s right. You’ve reached open book central.

IM: I think we’ll have to do a little fleshing out of the timeline with some basic bullet points of your story to get to my questions.

DPP: Hey, you’re the boss. And you mentioned bullets—like a boss.

IM: Transcribe a truly longsuffering look on my face, readers. By the time you were sixteen, you’d already had two gallery shows of your photography and you were getting a reasonable amount of legitimate press attention for that. Your blog, however, had become much bigger than even the photography on it because you’d started talking about culture in a uniquely thought-provoking and witty way.  
  
DPP: For my age.

IM: Don’t qualify my sentences for me, Caroline. I can do that myself.

DPP: Sorry and thank you for the compliment.

IM: You’re welcome. Your blog became so popular that you began to get press and paparazzi attention for yourself and not just because you were Miranda Priestly’s daughter.

DPP: I think I could quibble with that but I won’t.

IM: Thank you. Around the time the eyes of the press were turning toward you in earnest, you cut your hair short, dyed it black and spiked it. I’ve always wondered what your mother said about that when she first saw it.

DPP: I told our hair guy that Mom had said it was okay to cut it off and color it but I styled it myself afterward. You would have liked Andy’s reaction. She was standing next to Mom and she smiled this huge Ultra Brite toothpaste smile while her eyes were screaming ‘oh my God Caroline what have you done and why didn’t you warn me.’

Mom didn’t bat an eyelash. She just made a really serious cool-eyed face and said something like, ‘The cut is reasonable but if you want to color long-term, we’ll need to talk about the health of your hair. You’ll also need different products if you want intentional bed head or the studied asymmetry of windblown wheat, both of which can be visually compelling and either of which I assure you would be preferable to those shiny wet needles on your head.’

IM: I’m laughing, readers. That sounds just like her. What’d you do?

DPP: Are you kidding? Look at my hair. I changed my products.

IM: Naturally. But back to our timeline. What happened roughly next is why you became a bigger presence in the public eye.

DPP: Nothing sells like a whiff of scandal and a kid mouthing off. I’ll just rip the band-aid off and give the basics. I began to wear different clothes and my body had changed so when I got papped next to Cassidy, the obvious disparity in how we looked excited the press vultures. If you’re wearing black and you’re two sizes smaller than your identical twin, there you go. People were attacking Mom because they thought they knew something about me and therefore about her—that I was skinny because I was on drugs and/or maybe had an eating disorder that she probably approved of because she’d want her kids skinny and didn’t care enough to notice I was supposedly wasting away—the whole nine.

IM: I followed all that stuff and remember being incredibly offended by it because I knew Miranda well enough to know how protective she was of you two. How was it for you?

DPP: Surreal. Even if you know things are untrue and you know you should brush stuff off, it’s really strange and upsetting to have strangers talking about your body and your life like they know anything about either. Especially when you’re a minor child going through the ravages of puberty.

IM: She just laughed, readers.

DPP: I did but only because I used the word ravage to modify puberty—not because it isn’t sort of true. Puberty has enough insecurity attached to it without the press piling on. Mom never talks back to the vultures but she did that time. We were raised knowing when you fight public perception at the tabloid level, it’s like trying to stab a bowl of Jello to death. It only wears you out and makes you look stupid and it doesn’t really change the Jello. So, even though she knew it was useless, she defended me but she didn’t defend herself at all even though she and her parenting were the actual targets.

IM: Absolutely. I remember being incredibly impressed by your first vlog—because of what you said and maybe more that you uploaded it without your mother’s knowledge or permission.

DPP: Better to beg for forgiveness than ask permission, Iz.

IM: I’ll just leave that one alone.

DPP: You’d have to, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I vlogged about it and said what you know—I’d been a vegan for three years and did really intensive martial arts training. That it wasn’t exactly rocket science to understand my diet and form of exercise created high lean body mass and that I looked different than Cassidy because she was a carnivore and swam and played field hockey for exercise. That we were both perfectly healthy and since I’d gone vegan, I’d been under the care of a nutritionist to ensure I stayed that way.

IM: That’s not all you said.  
  
DPP: Yeah. I sort of went off on the press for speculating about my having an eating disorder or being addicted to drugs when the last thing I’d need emotionally if I were suffering like that was a bunch of jackasses with cameras and crap for brains talking about me. I said I knew they wouldn’t care if I were so sick I died if they got a few months of grim pictures out of it and another thousand digs in at my mother. I told them they could keep taking pictures of me and say whatever the hell they wanted to if it’d keep some other poor girl out of their crosshairs but that they should leave my mother the fuck alone because she was obviously a fuckton better parent than any of them ever had because my mother hadn’t raised soulless, shameless, useless leeches.

IM: I remember thinking that was a lot of ls in one sentence and you’re making what you said sound a lot nicer and even-tempered than you actually were. What did Miranda think about it?

DPP: Transcribe a shrug here. She said some stuff about it later that’s nobody’s business but ours but she didn’t really say anything at the time. She just watched and nodded. With the benefit of slightly more mature hindsight, I’d bet she was probably thinking I’d only added the adjectives hot-headed and foulmouthed to the whole anorexic addict thing as far as the press was concerned. But she didn’t make me take it down. I also think maybe she liked the word fuckton.

IM: I think she liked the _Nepotism Runs in My Family_ t-shirt you were wearing even more. I did.

DPP: I had that made just for the occasion. I know lots of people still think I crib from Mom for my blog.

IM: Do you?

DPP: Ouch. You cut me, Isabelle.

IM: You know I’m kidding but I’m sure you know why people might think that. You have a really uncanny way of picking up on the next big things right before they happen.

DPP: It’s not uncanny at all if you’ve watched Miranda Priestly all your life. Think of it this way. Culture has currents. Movies, songs, shows and clothes are all ripples in the cultural river we’re all swimming in. Mom just sort of feels what’s upstream causing the ripples. She knows the cause just seeing the effects when most people have to wait until the cause makes its way downstream.

IM: And you can do that too, evidently.

DPP: Sure, a little, but with her it’s a skill. With me, it’s hypervigilance. Anyway, it’s a moot point. It should be obvious the blog’s all me. Mom wouldn’t give a second’s thought to most of the crap I put on it.

IM: It’s not crap. I like your blog.

DPP: I know you do. Lots of people like it and I’m not saying Mom doesn’t but…transcribe a pause here, readers, I’m just noticing Mom’s bogarting our interview without even being here.

IM: And it’s odd you say so because she called last night to warn me about that very possibility.

DPP: Really?

IM: Yes.

DPP: Wow. Double the oddness or maybe triple it. Cass and JC called from math camp about that, too.

IM: Edited for truth. Cassidy and Juan Carlo aren’t at math camp, readers.

DPP: Science summer school—same thing.

IM: A summer program for pre-med students at Cornell University—not the same thing.

DPP: I will now take this opportunity to say whatever.

IM: Whatever—you’re proud of them.

DPP: Of course I’m proud of them—they take the heat off of me. Mom has two kids on track for medical school—just not the two she gave birth to. I’m free to slope off as the high school graduate I am.

IM: To _Interview_ magazine.

DPP: Yes. Transcribe a slightly cynical laugh, readers.

IM: Your family seems to have correctly anticipated I’d do a lousy job.

DPP: Nope, it was Priestly code speak for ‘remember you can always talk about Mom if you don’t want to talk about the elephant in the room’. You’re doing great, Iz, but we’ve covered the story of me in about the time it deserves, which means pretty quickly. It’s not like I have some huge body of work and tons of collaborators we can talk about. Plus you know I’m as private as a tomb so what could you ask that I’d answer? It’s the reason I’ve never done an interview. I’m a really good photographer who happens to have a hyper-popular blog. Who cares? I’m really only interesting enough for this magazine by association. And let’s face it, Iz, you’re interesting by association, too.

IM: True.

DPP: And what an association, huh? You shot my mother but she made a massive effort to get you out of prison and then got you a job at _Runway Italia_ when they released you. She wrote the foreword to the book you wrote in prison and I took the author photo for it. Now we’re collaborating on your second book so we’re traveling together and photographed together a lot here in New York.

IM: We are. And the easiest press explanation for that seems to be that we’re secretly dating.

DPP: Yes, it is and the mind reels. Oh wait. I think I’m supposed to say ‘not that there’d be anything wrong with dating a felonious older woman convicted of attempting to murder my mother.’

IM: Transcribe laughter because that’s a joke, readers.

DPP: It is. Because people these days always add the caveat that nothing’s ever wrong, right? That’s not how I happen to roll. My mother and I generally err on the side of absolutism rather than relativism, morally and otherwise.

IM: In every otherwise. And yet here we are.

DPP: Yes. Despite myself, here we are. I used to hate you passionately and now you’re one of my best friends. And if anyone’s wondering the answer is yes. That took a lot of work. You know, Iz, if we said we were sleeping together, it’d be so much more interesting to most people than anything we’ve lived through and could say about the mystery and the difficulties of guilt, forgiveness and grace.

IM: Would you like to say something about those things?

DPP: Not particularly. You wrote the book. It’s called _Grace Behind Me, Grace Before Me_ , folks. Sold everywhere good books are sold.

IM: Thanks for the plug. Miranda made you read it, didn’t she?

DPP: No. She strongly suggested I read it.

IM: Is there really a difference between strongly suggesting and a command with Miranda?  
  
DPP: In a way, this time there was. Yeah.

* * *

**Flashback to Caroline--Age 16**

Miranda knocked on Caroline’s door and waited.

“Come in, _Mom_.”

Miranda’s mouth twitched as she opened the door, wondering afresh at the level of irritation and scorn Caroline could pour into that one-syllable word.

She regarded the marvel and mystery of her daughter, who’d obviously stood up from her desk chair to receive her. Short, black scruffy hair, blue cruelty-free military boots which were in her opinion a bit of an oxymoron, black J Brand boyfriend jeans and a blue t-shirt emblazoned with the words I Can Explain It To You But I Can’t _Understand_ It For You.

Miranda thought the slogan was a perfectly apposite description for nearly every conversation a parent could have with a teen and vice versa. She was still getting used to her daughter’s hair, which was certainly striking given the girl’s milky white skin and pale blue eyes. If Caroline had been shooting for the belligerent gamine look, she’d succeeded.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Your outburst at dinner.”

“It wasn’t an outburst, Mother. It was an observation. I didn’t raise my voice.”

“Correction accepted. Perhaps I mistook the volume of your sentiment for that of your voice. We can talk about your observation, then. May I sit down?”

Caroline glowered in her general direction but not at her and jerked a thumb toward her office chair, “Chair’s more comfortable. I’ll sit on the bed.”

“Thank you.”

As Miranda took a seat, she had to admire her daughter’s posture as she sat across from her. The girl’s fanatical martial arts training had eradicated any tendency toward teen slouching. She looked, and was, extremely physically fit and ruthlessly capable in her discipline. She also looked, and was, extremely emotionally wary, something Miranda was unsure if the girl knew she telegraphed so obviously to others. Seeing the juxtaposition of these two truths sometimes made Miranda’s heart ache in her chest.

“Would you like to make any further observations now that I can answer you without casting a pall over the dinner table?”

Caroline hesitated exactly as if she might be counting to five before answering coolly, “You and Andy brought her up, Mom. You know for a fact this whole Isabelle Malara reclamation project makes me want to throw up a little in my mouth every time I hear about it. So _I_ wasn’t the first person who made dinner uncomfortable tonight, was I?

“Andrea only asked about the book foreword.”  
  
”Like that matters. I. Don’t. Care. You guys have the whole rest of the house and tons of time that doesn’t include me to talk about your BFF fresh out of prison. If you don’t want me to act out at the dinner table, you shouldn’t provoke me at the dinner table. How hard is that?”

“I concede your point—up to a point. But please…tell me more about your observation.”

Miranda watched Caroline’s eyes narrow and her cheeks redden. Embarrassed and angry. She’d certainly seemed surprised that she’d said what she had out loud.

She lifted her chin and shrugged, “I think it’s self-explanatory.”

“I think so, too. You asked if I’d have helped Isabelle if she hadn’t been so good-looking.”

Caroline pursed her lips but made an effort to look unconcerned. “Like I said—just an observation.”

“A remarkably hurtful one.”

Caroline looked at her mother and immediately felt slightly nauseated. She’d actually hurt her mother’s feelings. She’d wanted to but it was one thing to want to and another to really do it. “I’m sorry.”

Miranda waved one hand. “Why be sorry? You wanted to hurt me, didn’t you?”

Caroline lowered her eyes and her mouth pursed into a thin pale line.

“Yes. You did. By suggesting I’m the sort of person who could only have and/or extend compassion to persons I find aesthetically pleasing. I don’t deny it might be fair enough that some people could think that about me, given my position and reputation. But you’re not just some people and it wasn’t just a snide remark about my job. It was a jab at who I am as a human being. As in I’m not much of one.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
”Look at me, Caroline.”  
  
The girl raised her eyes and Miranda smiled in a way that made the girl’s stomach flip. “You’re a smart girl. I’m a smart woman. I didn’t misunderstand you. Of course you meant it exactly like that. There’s no other way to interpret what you said. You meant to hurt me by hitting me in a place you know I’m vulnerable because I have my guard down as your mother. You succeeded in hurting me in a uniquely personal way when others could not have. Well done.”

Caroline took a deep breath through her nose as tears welled in her eyes, brimmed, then fell down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m only and merely hurt. I’m not angry with you because it’s typical for people like us to lash out, even or especially with people we love, when we’re confronted or provoked. Note that I said people like us. We two are alike in many ways and you know that, don’t you?”

Caroline wiped her cheeks and nodded.

“I want you to know I commiserate with you. I can imagine sometimes it’s not particularly happy for you to look at me knowing that.”

The girl hesitated before answering while looking at the floor. “In some ways no, in some ways yes.”

“Look at me now, Caroline. I need for you to listen to me. I promise you I’m not going to say anything that you can’t tolerate. I may make you uncomfortable but I won’t hurt you.”

“Mom—if that’s reassurance, you’re doing it wrong.”

Miranda smiled a small, satisfied smile. “I love it when you say that.”

Caroline looked at her mother, rolled her eyes, and softly said, “Shut up.”

Miranda stunned her daughter by spinning around in the desk chair. One quick, complete revolution. Caroline gawked at her and Miranda was thoughtful before saying, “Would you believe, given the innumerable desk chairs I’ve sat in over my 56 years, that I’ve never done that in my life?”

“Why not?”

Miranda shrugged, which was another uncharacteristic gesture. “I suppose I never saw the point. If you’re looking or moving forward, why spin around only to land exactly where you were before?”

“Because it’s fun?”

Miranda snorted as she looked down at herself, at the chair. “Yes. That neatly explains it.” She looked up into Caroline’s eyes. “I do regret that, you know. For your sake and for Cassidy’s. That I’m not more fun.”

Caroline blinked at this surreal admission. “You’re…fun. I mean sort of. In your way.”

“Do you know the phrase ‘damning with faint praise?’”

“Yes—but you know what I mean. You’re not ha ha fun. You’re more like skewer fun.”

“Fine. Give me the skewer over the ha ha anytime.”

“Me too,” Caroline smiled wanly, “But you said you wanted to talk about something. That’s sort of hanging over me now so could we…”

“Ah yes. Of course.” Caroline watched her mother compose herself for whatever she was going to say but when the woman looked at her, her eyes were surprisingly soft and gentle and adoring—like she was looking at some clumsy, fuzzy puppy or a sweet little baby. Caroline thought for a moment and felt her throat constrict, realizing her mother _was_ seeing her baby.

“One of the hardest things to do as a mother is to watch your children growing and becoming themselves because you’re constantly wondering when to step in and when not to. If you step in too soon, you might stunt their independence. Step in too late or not at all and they suffer for your lack of support. It’s been hard for me to know where to step in for you, Caroline, because you’re so like me.”

Caroline nodded because she didn’t know what else to do.

“That said, you are not me and never will be. We both may be loners but you’ve never truly been alone. I’m the only child of parents who didn’t particularly like me. I didn’t make friends at school. I didn’t make friends out of school. Until I gave birth to you when I was forty years old, I’d never needed anyone or had to share anything with anyone or base my decisions on anyone but myself. Not even with your father, which made it completely predictable and reasonable that he divorced me. It was a brilliant recipe for my professional success but it was a disastrous recipe for life. You spent the first ten years of your life with that person and I know you remember her.’

“Yes.”

“I’ve watched you like a hawk since the first time I was shot and the second time I was shot. Of every one of my family and friends, I believe those events shocked and frightened you the most.”

Caroline’s posture stiffened and Miranda said, “That’s not saying anything bad about you. I believe, to a large extent, the others looked to me both times to decide how they should feel about it. If I seemed okay, they were okay. After all, it’s part of my life description to be above it all. I don’t mean to diminish their anguish over what happened but I believe their ultimate take-away from my brushes with fate was that I was and am just as indestructible as advertised. I believe your take-away was that I was anything but and that I just got lucky. Is that fair to say?”

Caroline swallowed visibly before saying, “Yes.”

“I happen to agree with you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Life is capricious in the best and worst possible ways and it’s very hard to know that and not arm yourself, isn’t it?

The muscles in Caroline’s jaw twitched, “Yes.”

Miranda nodded. “So, as I’ve said, I’ve watched your arming yourself year by year, Caroline. With your attitude. Your distancing yourself behind your camera. Making life kinder than it is with your diet. Controlling life by controlling your body. Defying life’s violence against your family by training yourself to be capable of killing. Defending me noisily and profanely on the Internet. Reacting to press interest in you with ‘touch me not’ clothing and hair. It’s all been quite meticulous, quite methodical.”

“And quite a bit too obvious, obviously. Are you finished making fun of me?”

“Breathe, Caroline. Is that what you really think I’m doing?”

Despite herself, Caroline obediently took a few deep breaths before answering, “I don’t know.”

Miranda reached forward and touched Caroline’s knee with one hand. “I haven’t interfered with you because these activities and interests you’ve healthily chosen and healthily pursued as protection have helped you. They might be things some parents would send you to a professional for but I’m not that parent. I’m not the sort of naïf who believes people need therapy for donning healthy armour. How could I? Look at my hair.”

Caroline snorted and Miranda smiled.

“Please know I’m on your side but I’m going to say a few things about Isabelle and you can throw up a little in your mouth all you want.”

Caroline crossed her arms and hated the fact her mother noted her discomfiture with one lifted eyebrow.

“I understand Isabelle changed your life but I had no defense against what happened to me after she shot me.”

Caroline felt completely unequal to what her mother might be about to say so she sneered and didn’t say a word.

Miranda read that reaction and lifted her chin. “I can explain it to you, Caroline, but I’m sorry I can’t understand it for you.”

Caroline wanted to punch something or someone hearing that but she answered, “What if I didn’t want to understand?”

“Then you’d be the poorer for it but I won’t say, as you did, that I don’t care because I do care. You focus on the fact that Isabelle shot me. I focus on the fact that Isabelle shot me without intention and without malice.”

She paused and ran one hand through her hair, another uncharacteristic action that fixed Caroline’s attention.

“I focus on the fact she shot me and I survived. If Isabelle had only just shot me and I’d only just recovered as quickly as I did, I think we all could almost imagine that nothing had ever happened. But something did happen because she shot me, Caroline. And it wasn’t that I was in the hospital and it wasn’t that we all had some big scare.”

“I’m going to ask you to tell me the truth now because, excepting myself, you’re the one person I know can face any truth if you have to. Even and especially if it hurts. Don’t tell me how you or anybody else felt or how unfair or awful my being assaulted was. Your feelings will always matter more to me than you’ll ever know but I want you to tell me the most important thing that happened because Isabelle shot me.”

The girl shook her head at the answer that instantly popped into her mind and bit the inside of one cheek before saying quietly, “Andy happened.”

“Correct. And what happened because of Andy?”

Caroline’s mind flashed to the unrelenting upheaval Andy’s presence had caused her family at the beginning of her reappearance in their lives. Flashed to the fantastical and bewildering difference between their stark and insular family then and her extended, exuberant and happy family now. Her answer was the only one she could think of. “Everything.”

Miranda nodded curtly, leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Exactly. I don’t pretend to understand the reasons behind that, Caroline. I don’t know them and I’m not happy I was shot.” Miranda paused and then continued in a voice full of quiet conviction. “But I don’t believe for a second that Isabelle was just an accident in my life. You can resent my thinking that but your disdain will not change what I intend to do for her. That said, I would ask two favours of you before you encase your attitude toward her in cement.”

Caroline exhaled. She didn’t like most of what her mother was saying but the worst was over if she was asking for favours. “You’re so predictable, Mom. Emotional bonding and then the sales pitch.”

Miranda’s face was a blank slate. “Really? I do that?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Miranda raised both hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Favour one. Read Isabelle’s book. You don’t have to like it or her. You don’t have to give me a book report. Favour two. After you’ve read it, shoot the author’s photo.”

Caroline mouth dropped open in sheer astonishment. She shook her head before saying, “I don’t have to like her or the book but I have to meet her and do her a massive favour. Seriously?”

“It’s not a command, Caroline. Who knows? It may be therapeutic for you. I’m sure you’ve thought about shooting Isabelle many times and in that way you could do so without going to prison. Take the photo you think she deserves. She and I will accept your verdict.”

Miranda looked so breezily satisfied with this pronouncement and with herself that Caroline almost laughed before she said, “Asking me to photograph her is a little outrageous. You do know that, don’t you?"

Miranda ignored her as she stood up. “Speaking of work, Isabelle’s book is a religious one. Not spiritual. Religious.” She tapped Caroline’s cheek, “Enjoy—and thank you for talking.” She leaned down, kissed her cheek and pulled her into a quick hug.

As she left the room, Caroline flopped onto her back in her bed, feeling both emotionally exhausted as only her mother could make her. Yet oddly content.

* * *

 

**Three Weeks Later…**

Caroline tapped lightly on her mother’s open study door as she entered the room but her mother didn’t react. She was sitting at her computer apparently completely transfixed by her screensaver. Which was a picture of Andy. Which was too much information for Caroline.

She couldn’t know her mother wasn’t looking at Andy. Miranda was wondering how long she should secretly pursue fantasy football, how many days it would take before she would inevitably unburden that guilty secret to Andy and how long the woman would laugh at her. She’d been thinking it would almost be worth the jeering for the laughter.

Caroline touched her mother on the shoulder and waggled an 8x10 folder when she had her attention.

“Don’t let me catch you mooning over Andy again. Here’s your picture. I didn’t give you choices because the choice was obvious.”

Miranda opened the folio and found a perfect— _the_ perfect—picture of Isabelle Malara. She was moved to the point of stupidity. Her entire reaction was the word, “Wow.”

Caroline smiled, saying over her shoulder as she crossed the room, “Yes, I completely rock. I know but I gotta jet. Me and Cass and Jace are hitting MoMA before lunch.”

She paused at the her mother’s study door, “Just so you know, that picture’s my book report. You can’t read that book and hate the person who wrote it. I know I’m not old enough to understand all of the why of how I feel about that but the book and meeting her were both very…I suppose wow _is_ the word.”

Miranda looked at the picture again after Caroline had left the room and then shouted, “Thank you!”

Caroline shouted from the hall, “Whatever!”

Miranda smiled.

* * *

 

**End flashback. The _Interview_ interview continues with Caroline (19) and Isabelle.**

DPP: By the way, when I showed Mom your author’s photo, she said you were the height of hot Pre-Raphaelite penitent chic.”

IM: Oh my God. She did not!

DPP. Well no. I totally made that up but you sort of bought it for a second.

IM: I’d buy all but the hot part—the rest sounds like her.

DPP: Yes. Let’s not explore your hotness.

IM: Let’s not. That would be the shortest expedition on record.

DPP: I beg to differ. Contrition’s such a hot look for you that I almost want to make you do bad things so I can watch you feel guilty.

IM: I can’t believe you just said that. And now, readers, you know why we’re not dating.

DPP: But we are working on a book together.

IM: It’s called _Semi-Religious Women_ , which was a term in the later Middle Ages for women whose lives weren’t secular but weren’t strictly and legally religious either. Throughout history, there have been women whose faith led them away from their societal roles as wives and mothers but didn’t lead them all the way to the convent. There are women who live those lives today. It’s a book of essays about that middle path. In other words, I’m writing one humdinger of a summer beach read page-turner.

DPP: I’m laughing because that’s so not true. Actually, I’m taking pictures so it can be a coffee table book.

IM: And now I’m laughing. But not at Caroline’s photography. Her photos can be tremendously meditative and I’m incredibly lucky she’s helping me on a project that means so much to me.

DPP: I consider it an honour, Iz, but let’s not make me sound thoughtful.

IM: If I implied you were thoughtful in any of this, I promise it was an accident.

DPP: Are we about finished here?  
  
IM: We can be. I think we’ve covered everything.

DPP: Yep. I’m still not interesting. I’m still not on drugs. I still don’t have an eating disorder. Mom still doesn’t write my blog. I’m not dating Isabelle. Oh—almost forgot. No matter how many times you see me holding Juan Carlo Castillo’s hand or hugging him or walking arm in arm with him, I will never be dating him. He’s my best friend and my sister’s boyfriend. There—that’s it.

IM: Yes. That’s that. All in all, I think I managed to make a really interesting person sound pretty boring with my dynamic interviewing skills. Sorry, Caroline.

DPP: Don’t apologize. It was perfect. After reading this, I can’t imagine anyone would ever ask me for an interview again. Mission accomplished. Oh. One last thing. Sorry _Interview_ , for demanding you make my introduction a drabble. That was lame but I couldn’t think of anything obnoxiously rock star enough to ask for.

IM: You could have asked your mother.

DPP. Oh snap! Meow, Isabelle. On that high, high note, thanks for reading, readers.

IM: Yes. Thanks readers. Pray for me.

DPP: I’m laughing and we’re out.

* * *

Weeks later, after Emily read the _Interview_ interview, she drummed her fingers on her desk for a few moments, turned in her chair and looked out through her floor-to-ceiling wraparound view of the Manhattan skyline. She loved her office.  
  
Years earlier, when Miranda had rather summarily decided that she turn her hand to publicity, Emily had felt a bit stung by what felt like a dismissal. It had, however, turned out to be a job she was ridiculously good at and she’d made a name for herself almost immediately. She was used to bullying and cajoling people, buttering them up or putting them on ice for Miranda. She merely applied her hard-earned and haughty ferocity to the press. It hadn’t hurt that her first client had been Miranda and that the woman had sung her praises to anyone willing to listen. In a matter of two years, Emily had become one of the most feared and respected publicists on either coast. She loved her job.  
  
There were, of course, exceptions. Because of Miranda’s patronage, Emily had taken on Caroline, a charming and talented girl she'd already known would be as unwilling to be molded as her mother. She’d also been forced to take on Isabella Malara. The only happy thing about working with Isabelle was knowing that she’d once been able to punch her a few times. Literally.  
  
Emily thought the _Interview_ interview was actually quite charming but Caroline and Isabelle didn’t have to know that. She told her secretary to schedule a conference call so that she could rake them over the coals together.

* * *

 

**Three Years Later (Ten years after the wedding. Miranda is 61 and Andy is 36.)**

Andy sat at the kitchen table leisurely flipping through the Book as Miranda added percussion to the soft sound of their dinnertime Vivaldi with her vigorous chopping of vegetables for a Thai stir-fry.

“I like these shoes. I can’t tell what color they are, though. Dark green maybe?”

Miranda pursed her lips at the question as she surveyed her ingredients and decided the ginger was next to meet its demise. Having been married to a woman for nearly ten years had taught her that men were not entirely out of order when they complained that women occasionally expected them to read their minds. Nevertheless, she answered pleasantly. “There are more than 600 pairs of shoes in that book, Andrea. What page?”

“I know that but you could shave off about 550 of them because you’d know I couldn’t be talking about them. Page 124.”

Miranda began to peel the ginger as she thought. “They’re rifle green Balenciaga. They’d look very pretty on you.”

“Thank you but don’t get any ideas. I don’t need shoes.”  
  
”I know you don’t need those but I’m sure I could have a nice pair of Mukluks dyed rifle green for our 10th anniversary.”

“And I’d wear them at the party which would completely explode that smart-aleck gesture.”

Miranda finished cutting her ginger into matchsticks and reached for her shallots. “I hope you’re not starving.”

“I’ll be hungry when it’s finished but I could always help you if you want.”

“If you helped, I wouldn’t be making dinner, would I?”

Andy smiled at the book but didn’t answer. The question was purely rhetorical. Miranda was a maddeningly methodical cook. Everything she made was delicious and its presentation was flawless but there was no hurrying her and helping her only slowed her own momentum as she inevitably rode shotgun over her sous chef.

Miranda set her knife down and turned toward Andy. “How would you feel if I told you I was thinking of retiring?”

Andy looked up into Miranda’s eyes. “I’d feel like I needed to feel your forehead for a fever. Are you serious?”

Miranda lifted an eyebrow and returned to her shallots.

Andy stared at the woman’s back for a few seconds and when nothing more was forthcoming said, “Feel free to answer me anytime. Are you serious?”

“The topic’s been bandied about.”

Andy stood up and crossed to stand next to her wife, who continued to chop. “Rewind a little. Who bandied it about?”

“Irving and I have met a few times to discuss it.”

“Miranda! Why didn’t you tell me that rat bastard was trying to force you out?”

To Andy, Miranda’s voice sounded a little guilty. “He’s not. I brought it up.”

Andy put one hand on Miranda’s forearm. “Stop with the chopping. Come sit down for a minute.”

“But dinner—“

“Can wait. Come sit down and I’ll fill your glass.”

Miranda washed her hands and took a seat at the table.

Andy took a deep breath. “Okay. If you’re not kidding me, I’m really wondering why you’d have been thinking about this long enough for it to be serious enough to involve Irv without involving me.”

Miranda toyed with the stem of her wine glass. “I wasn’t keeping it from you, Andrea. I was trying the idea on in my mind. I needed to see how it fit without any outside influence and of course you’re my biggest influence. It’s exactly like when Mike offered you city editor. You didn’t tell me for two days.”

Andy took a sip of wine. “Okay—yes. He offered me the job and I waited two days before I told you but it was only two days and I told you before I took it. You instigated this and it’s had to have been months.”

Miranda sighed, “It’s been on my mind because we’re having our 10th anniversary soon and I’m 61 years old.”

Andy tilted her head. “And that makes you feel like you need to retire?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not that I feel I have nothing more to accomplish. I’m not tired or tired of the job. It’s just…a few months ago I was thinking about our anniversary party and who would be there and Nigel happened to walk past my office and he smiled at me.”

Andy nodded before asking again, “And that made you want to retire?”

“No. I just had this sudden insight that he has to feel like Prince Charles. How long is he going to have to be the prince? It’s not like I really am the Queen or a Supreme Court justice. I can actually quit.”

Andy smiled tepidly. “That’s…good of you to think about him and it’s really noble but if you retired what would you do?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I’d take up knitting or bingo or shuffleboard. What do women my age do when they have time on their hands?”

Miranda’s eyes were so filled with mirth that Andy smelled a rat. “They jerk their wives around. What’s really going on?”  
  
Miranda laughed. “Exactly what I’ve said. I approached Irving about my retiring from my position and he agreed it was a brilliant plan. Although I’ll no longer be editor in chief, my plan will keep the shareholders happy because it will maintain a legacy of known and trusted leadership. Runway Prince Charles is going to take my job and Serena will take his.”

“Leaving you as…”

“The Creative Director of Elias Clarke.”

“What?!”

Miranda nodded. “Yes. My reign of terror will now extend over every magazine Elias Clarke produces.”

Andy choked back a laugh. “Oh thank God. I know it’s great you’ve staged a bloodless coup and I’m proud of you and don’t be mad but I just have to be profoundly, crazily relieved for a few minutes. I thought you were having some sort of midlife something or empty nest syndrome gone bad.”

Miranda gave Andy a withering look, “We don’t have an empty nest. Our nest has a loud rancorous parrot in it, thanks to you.”

“Oh no. You agreed Magdalena’s too old to live by herself. And besides, we have a couple of nights all to ourselves to celebrate.”

“Thank God for Wanda and Carlo. I know I wouldn’t dare take Magdalena to see Niagara Falls.” She switched into a hardboiled noir gangster voice, “If you think my mitts wouldn’t be itchin’ to give that broad an oak barrel party over da side, you don’t know nuttin.”

Andy rolled her eyes and said, “I know something. I know you.” She stood, walked around the table and ran one hand over Miranda’s shoulders. “Well enough to think we should go upstairs. All this talk of a promotion and knowing the mayhem it’s sure to cause in that building when it’s announced has to be having an effect you might need assistance with. I bet I know exactly how I could help.”

Miranda looked up into Andy’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“It doesn’t seem possible that you’re still getting better at that. Not that you were anything but stellar from the beginning.”  
  
Andy was wrapped around Miranda and smiled lazily as she traced soft circles on the woman’s stomach. “Good save, Priestly, but I have had ten years of practice.”

“And speaking of ten years. We have to think about an anniversary party.”

“No we don’t. The kids are working on surprising us.”

“Since when?”

“Since Cassidy told me because she knows we hate surprises.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was too busy being kept in the dark about your promotion.”

“I apologized for that.”

“Actually, you didn’t. Is Irv throwing a party for your promotion?”

“No. It will be for my retirement.”  
  
”So that’s how he’s going to play it, huh?”

“Yes—he wants a big reveal.”

“I can hear it now, Miranda. The big reveal and then he’ll drone on and on and on about your beginning a new, exciting chapter in Elias Clarke history.”

“Does that mean I can’t drone on and on about the new, exciting chapter in our marriage at our anniversary party?”

Andy shrugged in Miranda’s arms. “You can if you want to. It’s not like it won’t be at least a little new and exciting. It’ll definitely be interesting. I mean, how couldn’t it be? You’re the main character.”

Miranda smiled and pulled Andy closer, not at all concerned about the ending of this chapter. Or the beginning of the next.

* * *

**The End**

 


End file.
